Twelfth Night
by muchbeddled
Summary: Marian attends a Twelfth Night party hosted by Lady Cecily, an acquaintance but hardly a friend, where she learns news of Robin, who has recently left to accompany King Richard on Crusade. Obviously, set preseries, leading into my story, You Must Have Had Suitors.
1. Chapter 1

"Will you be alright?"

Sir Edward of Knighton, Sheriff of Nottingham, shouldn't have felt any concern over his sole surviving child, the beautiful Lady Marian, as she entered their coach to travel to a Twelfth Night party this snowy winter's night of January 5, the year of our Lord, 1187. Marian, after all, would never give her father cause to worry over her decorum or behavior. Yet worry he did.

Since her sweetheart and former betrothed, Robin of Locksley, had departed to fight alongside England's newly crowned King, Richard Plantagenet, in His Majesty's Crusade to recover Jerusalem, Marian had not been herself. Hiding her broken heart, she had been quiet and withdrawn, preferring to sit unoccupied indoors in complete solitude, which was a complete change from the healthy, active, outdoor lifestyle she'd always favored. Too many evenings, Sir Edward had found her sitting alone in the dark, staring at nothing out the windows, with little appetite and even less joy.

He couldn't understand the depth of her feelings for Locksley, for her extreme youth led him to believe her incapable of such deep, abiding love.

_Lady Cecily's party is just what Marian needs,_ Sir Edward thought, _to help her get over Robin._

Edward had no doubt his daughter wouldn't lack for dance partners tonight. Indeed, the young men would be falling over one another, in their efforts to get Marian to notice them. Silently, in his heart, he thanked God for Lady Cecily's love for parties.

Lady Cecily of Edwinstone had never been a close friend of his daughter's, but the two young women were civil toward one another, as ladies of rank should be. Cecily's older brother Stephen was another young nobleman from the shire who had "taken the cross" to fight in the King's Crusade. And now that Cecily was married, albeit to a gentleman Edward's age, she was eager to play hostess and show off her new position as Mistress of her husband's grand estate. Hence, Marian's invitation to the Twelfth Night party, where their coachman would shortly drive her.

"Have a wonderful time," Sir Edward wished his daughter, kissing her on an icy cold cheek.

With a forced shadow of her former smile, Marian stepped into the coach and rode away.

...

Cecily's new husband, enamoured of his pretty blond young wife, spared no expense to make her party a success. Their home was ablaze in candlelight, turning night into day, illuminating tables groaning under heaping platters of the finest holiday foods. Skilled musicians played lively tunes, hidden from the elegantly dressed guests, in an upstairs gallery.

In spite of the merriment in his house, however, Lord Edwinstone soon grew weary. Unable to stifle his gaping yawns, he very politely made his excuses and went to bed, leaving Cecily to entertain the many young people she had invited without him.

"Marian!" Cecily cried with false affection, when the sheriff's daughter at last arrived. Linking her arm through Marian's, Cecily led her to a group of her most intimate friends, where gossip flowed as easily as wine.

"What a pair we make," Cecily boasted, basking in all the pairs of male eyes following them. "You with your rich dark hair, and me with my blond! I wonder how many conquests we shall make tonight!"

Barely perceptively, Marian lifted her eyebrows. She was used to Cecily's love of flirtation, but she hadn't expected it to continue after her wedding.

"I should like to pay my respects to your lord husband," Marian began politely, "but I do not see him."

"That old stiff!" Cecily joked. "He's gone to bed, like an obediant husband, leaving us to have fun. Don't look now, but Martin of Aylesbury is staring at you!"

Marian had no desire to look at Aylesbury. In fact, she began to question why she had come. Her legs felt heavy, her feet like lead. The candlelight hurt her eyes, the fires were too hot, the people too loud. She wanted nothing so much as to climb back into her coach, ride home, and bury herself under her bedclothes.

A few more sips of golden wine made Cecily even more giddy. "It's time to select our Lord of Misrule!" she announced. "Every man here must have a piece of cake, no exceptions, and the one who's unlucky enough to find the bean in his slice, must wear this!"

Ladies' laughter washed over the crowd, as Cecily held up a multi-colored jester's cap, adorned with a trio of horns tipped with bells. All the young men were handed slices of cake, which they greedily devoured.

"Whose cake has the bean?" Cecily asked, eager to "crown" this year's Lord of Misrule.

With abashed good humor, Martin of Aylesbury stepped forward, holding up the bean between his thumb and forefinger. Most of the ladies applauded.

Aylesbury knelt on one knee before Cecily, allowing her to place the jester's cap on his sandy colored hair. "I crown thee, Lord Misrule!" Cecily announced.

According to Twelfth Night custom, everyone was required to do whatever the Lord of Misrule ordered, until midnight struck, signalling the end of his reign.

Summoning his courage, Martin gave his first order.

"Lady Marian," he said, nervously. "As Misrule, I command you to dance with me."

Marian obeyed as if in an unhappy trance.

Normally, she adored dancing and all kinds of festivities, but tonight, desperately missing Robin, she simply didn't have the heart.

Aylesbury found her dull company, lovely to look at, but too serious for his tastes. Besides, the sparkle that used to light up her eyes was gone, like the flame of a candle that had been extinguished.

When the dance was over, Marian absently rejoined Cecily and her friends.

"We were just discussing how frigid it is tonight," Cecily informed her. "Of course, my brother Stephen and your Robin must be loving the weather in Sicily!"

"Cecily?" Marian repeated blankly, barely hearing anything after Robin's name was mentioned.

The other ladies burst into a mad fit of giggling.

"Sicily, you goose!" Cecily teased her. "You know, the kingdom where King Richard's sister Johanna is Queen. That's where the King's army is spending Christmas, you know!"

"No, I didn't know," Marian admitted.

_I don't know anything. Are you in Sicily, then, Robin? What is it like? Do you ever think of me? Thank God you are safe, and haven't yet begun fighting._

"My brother writes they saw quite a battle, freeing Queen Johanna from her late husband's brother! Did you know, Tancred, his name is, thought he could have his dead brother's wife, as well as his throne? Imagine! He locked Johanna in a castle tower, expecting she'd give in and agree to marry him. He didn't count on her brother Richard arriving, with his army!"

"A battle?" Marian asked, alarmed. "Was anyone hurt?"

"Of course! But our side didn't suffer too many casualties. Stephen wrote me King Richard called Tancred's army 'a lot of toy soldiers!' "

_Robin, are you alright? I know you took risks you shouldn't! _

"Will Princess Johanna return to England, now that she's free, and a widow?" another of Cecily's friends asked.

"Surprisingly, no," Cecily explained, proud to be the bearer of knowledge. "Before she left for Sicily, she made her father, King Henry, and her brother Richard agree, that if she ever became a widow, they would let her choose her own husband the next go-round. Can you imagine? I wish I'd known before I was married! I'd have gotten my brother to agree to the same bargain!"

"That shouldn't stop her from coming home," another lady suggested.

"It should, if the man she wishes to marry isn't here!" Cecily told them, archly.

The ladies gasped and giggled, as if they'd just been told a piece of scandalous gossip.

"Do you mean, she's planning to marry another Sicilian?"

"Wrong again," Cecily answered, with an all-knowing smile. Turning to Marian, who was standing idly by, barely listening, Cecily said, "Marian, don't be too upset, but my brother writes that Princess Johanna appears to have set her sights on Robin! She's going to accompany her brother and his troops to the Holy Land, seemingly, to keep Richard's soon-to-be bride company! For my part, I wouldn't be at all surprised if there wasn't a double royal wedding!"

"Robin of Locksley!" another giggling girl exclaimed, not noticing Marian's face lose all its color. "Who can blame her? He always was delicious!"

"Yummy!" Cecily agreed. "Why ever did you let him go, Marian?"

"Excuse me," Marian said, vacantly, her heart and mind racing.

Pushing her way through the throngs of revellers being led to perform ridiculous tricks as the Lord of Misrule commanded, Marian strove to get outside into the cold night air, where at least she could breathe.


	2. Chapter 2

Marian stood alone outside Lord and Lady Edwinstone's home, gulping down breaths of the cold night air.

Her cheeks felt flushed, yet she was shivering, having left her cloak inside.

So many thoughts raced through her mind, paralyzing her. Robin risking everything in the glory of battle, wounded, suffering, then nursed back to health by the beautiful tawny-headed princess with her catlike eyes, the color of emeralds. A double royal wedding, with Robin the handsomest groom imaginable, completely at ease in the presence of royalty, while Much hovered nervously in the background.

"You wouldn't marry her, would you, Robin?"

Glancing up at the star-filled sky, she wondered what he was doing at that moment. No doubt, he'd be celebrating Twelfth Night festivities within the King's inner circle. Would his cake contain the bean, making him the Lord of Misrule? He'd certainly be wonderful at it!

A small smile turned up the corners of her mouth, even as a tear trickled down her cheek.

"Lady Marian? What are you doing, out here alone in the dark? And without your cloak!"

Startled, Marian turned toward the male voice coming to her through the darkness. It belonged to Henry of Lewis, a sturdy, beefy, clean-shaven young man, who planned to join King Richard's army as soon as the spring thaw would make travel possible.

She knew Henry only slightly. He impressed her as a man "on the make," an opportunist who tried in vain to gain favor with her father by offering his services for a variety of unpleasant tasks. She suspected him a coward at heart, though full of bravado and secrecy. In short, she neither liked nor trusted him.

But he liked her. At least, tonight he did.

He wondered, if he managed to bribe that fool Aylesbury, he could get him to command, as Misrule, that she kiss him. Or better yet, be locked up alone with him. He wondered how much wine it would take to get her to surrender to his wants. Not much, he decided. If she was standing out here, alone in the cold without her cloak, she must already be drunk.

She was vulnerable, with Locksley gone, despondent...miserable. Her previous zest for life and her feistiness, which had always marked her, were absent. She wouldn't put up too much of a fight.

And then, of course, once the deed was done, she wouldn't talk, not wanting to darken her pristine reputation. No one would know. Not until Henry arrived in the Holy Land, and boasted of it.

Rubbing Locksley's nose in the fact would be almost as much fun as stealing her maidenhead. Almost.

"Come inside," Henry told her, offering his arm. "It's bitter out here tonight."

"No, thank you, I-I need to go home."

"Go home? You can't be serious. You can't leave before midnight!"

"I'm not well. I want to go home. Please, send for my coach. I need to tell Cecily goodnight."

Even in her distressed state of mind, Marian remembered her manners. Mechanically, she reentered the house, wove her way through the throngs of merry-makers, to find Cecily and thank her.

Cecily barely heard her. She was laughingly absorbed by a rather handsome gentleman whom the Lord of Misrule had forced to perform a silly song and dance.

Marian didn't even think to retrieve her cloak. The laughter all around her seemed loud and raucous in her ears, the people false, made stupid with drink. All she wanted to do was to escape, so she could be alone.

Stepping back outside, she was grateful when she saw that Henry had indeed secured her coach. A cold blast of air made her violently shiver, and she felt a strong sense of pity for her driver.

"Will you be alright?" she asked him, surprising him by her concern. "There are blankets inside the coach. How many would you like?"

"I got my own, thank you, Your Ladyship," the coachman answered. "You'll be needing them, I'm thinking, without your cloak."

His words made her realize, even when the cold hadn't, that she'd left her cloak inside. Marian hesitated for a moment, but then, not wanting to go back inside to the party, she decided she could retrieve it another day. But stepping inside her coach, she discovered another surprise.

As soon as her coachman shut her door, Henry of Lewis leaped out of the interior darkness and seized her around her waist. Bending her backward, he pressed his lips to her neck and began kissing her greedily, like an animal.

Without thinking, Marian kicked open the door, pushed him off her, and shoved him out of the coach, into the snow below.

"Get off me!" she shouted, leaning out her slowly moving coach to pull the door shut again.

"Well played, little lady," the coachman approved, smiling with respect and amusement.


	3. Chapter 3

Drawing rein just outside Knighton Hall, the nearly frozen coachman hopped down from his seat to pull open the carriage door for Her Ladyship.

Watching Lady Marian emerge from the coach, the driver was struck by the nobility of so young a lady. _No titled "gentleman" dare mess with you! _he was thinking with admiration, laughing inwardly at the memory of Henry of Lewis, facedown in a snow bank.

Standing before him in her elegant gown, she might have been wearing armour, so proud and brave did she appear. The coachman found her incredibly beautiful, but young. Yet again, there was something decidedly womanly about the far away look in her eyes, so heart-rendingly sad, as well as the strength of her chin.

"An artist should paint you, if you don't mind me saying so, Your Ladyship."

Her fine white teeth were chattering as she thanked him. "Come inside," she invited, kindly. "Help yourself to some stew in the kitchen. It will warm you."

"You do your father proud," he told her, pleased to accept her invitation.

But Marian didn't agree with his assessment. She didn't feel anywhere near as brave as she looked. In fact, she felt more unhappy and disheartened than ever.

"I'm just tired, and cold," she told herself, dragging her feet up the stairs to the sanctuary of her room.

Alone at last, surrounded by the familiar objects she cared for, she longed to derive some comfort from the neatness and order of her room. Too despondent to light a fire, or even summon a servant to do so, Marian climbed beneath her bedclothes, fully dressed except for her shoes. She couldn't stop shivering.

"What is wrong with me?" she wondered.

Tomorrow was Epiphany, the twelfth and final day of Christmas, the day gifts would be exchanged to mark the time the Magi offered gifts to the Christ Child.

Every year before, Marian had gone to bed excited about the coming day. As a small child, her excitement had centered around what she might receive, but as she'd grown and matured, she found she cared more about giving than receiving. Tonight, for some reason, she couldn't bring herself to care about either.

"I'll be fine, once I get warm," she told herself.

Without warning, she suffered another fit of shivering so violent, her bed shook.

"I must have a fire," she realized, uttering a deep, unhappy sigh. Dragging herself out of bed, she mechanically arranged kindling in her grate, then used the single burning rushlight to ignite it.

"Robin!"

His name came from the depths of her being, wrenched out of her like a child torn from its mother's womb. Tears streamed down her cheeks, but she made an effort to stifle her sobs, lest her cries awaken and alarm her father.

Still fully dressed, Marian climbed back into her bed, silently shaking with sobs and the cold.

By morning, fever had turned her puffy eyes bright, her lips deadly white, and her cheeks scarlet. Her head pounded, and she couldn't rise from her bed to give her father his carefully wrapped present.


	4. Chapter 4

Much liked Sicily. Not counting the few hellish hours that felt like eternity, when Much's heart froze in his chest and he knew for certain that either he, or Robin, or both would be slaughtered in the battle to free Princess Johanna, or was it Queen Johanna?, Much found Sicily a lovely place. Especially this mild winter's evening, celebrating Twelfth Night.

_King Richard certainly knows how to host a party_, Much was thinking, his belly full and his wine chalice empty. But it wouldn't be empty for long, not tonight, when everybody was having so much fun.

Much's only anxiety centered around the Lord of Misrule. So far, he had been spared Misrule's orders, and he'd laughed as hard as anyone at watching Leicester and others perform the silly antics they had been told. He only hoped Misrule would continue to spare him tonight.

"I've spent enough time, being the brunt of jokes, thank you!" he said out loud, to no one in particular.

When a female voice answered him, just at his elbow, he nearly dropped his wine-cup.

"Soldier," she said, making Much wonder whom she could be talking to, "where is your master?"

Much looked left, then right, then spun a full 360 degree turn, just to find the soldier the lady was addressing.

And she wasn't just any lady, either! She was none other than King Richard's youngest sister Johanna, Princess of England and lately, Dowager Queen of Sicily.

"Yes, I am addressing you," she explained with a regal, amused, indulgent smile, reminding Much of her mother, Queen Eleanor. "You must get used to being called 'Soldier' now, for that's what you are. I thank you for your part in rescuing me."

Much was flattered. Flattered and flustered. For a Dowager Queen, she certainly looked young. Not to mention beautiful.

She was clad entirely in deep velvet green and gold, with emeralds to match her glittering green eyes, and a filigree net holding up her red-gold hair. Tall, slender, and elegant, she seemed to Much like a Princess from a fairy story, so perfectly lovely did she appear. For once, he was speechless.

But, being Much, he didn't remain speechless for long.

"You're welcome, Your Highness," he stammered. "Your Majesty! Oh, which is it? I know it's 'Highness' for Princess, which you are, and 'Majesty' for Queen, which you also are, or should I say were? There's always so much to remember!"

The young man's sudden outburst took Johanna by surprise, though her only indication was a slight widening of her eyes. "Why don't we make it easy, and I let you call me 'Joan,' as your master does? Where is he, by the way?"

Much couldn't believe his good fortune. "Joan?" he asked, delighted, though bewildered. "Oh no, I couldn't! I'm only Much, you see, not a lord or an earl or anything, like Robin, so I hardly think-"

"Tell me, Much," the princess interrupted in a slightly more commanding tone, "where I might find your master. He's disappeared, just when I need him to lead me in a dance. You wouldn't by any chance know his whereabouts, would you?"

At last, Much seemed to understand her question. "Robin? Oh, Robin'll be outside, on the castle battlements, having a nice chat with Marian."

Johanna wondered if she'd heard the young man correctly. "Marian?" she asked in surprise, for once dropping her elegant demeanor. "I had no idea Lady Marian of Knighton was travelling with my brother's army!"

"Oh, no, Your...Your...Your Joan Highness Majesty Person! She isn't! Marian, with the army? That would be...would be...what's the word I want that means outrageous? Marian, with the army? HA! Why, she'd probably pick up a sword and want to fight alongside us! Though why anyone would enjoy such a horrible, ghastly thing as battle, is beyond me! The only good part about fighting was when the other army surrendered, and we could stop! Though even that wasn't good, with all the dead bodies surrounding us, and the men who hadn't died crying out in agony!"

"It's better not to dwell on it," Johanna said soothingly. "It's all over, for now. But back to your master. You say he's on the battlements, chatting with Lady Marian? I don't understand."

"Now you know how I feel, most of the time! But, yes! You see, it all started years ago, when Robin and Marian first learned they were betrothed. They were already deeply in love, though you won't catch either one of them admitting it, and Robin came up with a plan. He decided, and Marian agreed, that whenever they were separated, like when he had to go to Court, for example, they would step outside at the same time, look up at the stars, and imagine they were together. And it's that time now, so you see, that's where he is. Though I must say, he's been gone a long time. He must have all kinds of things to tell her, which, if you think about it, isn't really fair to me. He never tells me anything!"

"What a romantic your master is! But I thought I heard he and Lady Marian had called off their wedding."

Much snorted, then covered his mouth with his hand, realizing it wasn't good manners to snort before royalty. But the Princess Dowager Queen didn't appear to notice.

"Marian called it off," he hastily explained, "making Robin angry and impossible to live with! But he never stays mad at her for long. So you see, even though they haven't spoken or written a word to each other, not counting the conversations he has with her from the battlements, or in his sleep, which I've caught him doing more nights than I care to mention, he is sure he can get her to forgive him, as soon as the Crusade is over, and we can go home, which can't happen soon enough for me! Robin says it will be a few months more, by summer at the latest, but I'm hoping we'll be home by spring. I do so love an English spring! Though I must say, winter in Sicily is certainly pleasant! A man could get used to this climate, if he-"

Not wanting to waste another moment listening to the servant's endless stream of words, Johanna excused herself, saying, "You've been very helpful. Why don't you enjoy some more wine? There's nothing like the wine from Tuscany."

"Yes! Thank you! It is good, isn't it?"

Happy to escape, Johanna quickly departed, then climbed the stairs to the castle battlements, to look for Robin.

A mild evening, a star filled sky, the sound of the sea below them...what could be better for a private tete a tete with the handsome and dashing Robin of Locksley?

Johanna quickened her steps, her heart racing in anticipation. This would surely prove to be the most glorious Twelfth Night either had ever experienced!


	5. Chapter 5

Standing alone on the castle battlements, far from home, Robin fingered a string of Venetian glass beads he held in his hand, missing the young woman he'd been thinking of when he purchased them.

Much would tease him, if he knew Robin had bought Marian a piece of jewelry, but Robin hadn't been able to resist buying Marian something for Epiphany, even if he wasn't home to give it to her.

The beads of brightly colored glass were unknown in England, though they graced the necks of women of every station throughout Italy and its neighboring isles. Inexpensive, yet pretty, the beads would look even lovelier around Marian's neck, and Robin had felt pleased and excited to pick out a string of green and gold beads for the future Lady Locksley, Countess of Huntington.

"It was either this, or a string of blue, to match your eyes," he whispered to the winds, hoping that somehow his love might reach her. "But, knowing how your favorite color is green, and how green and gold are the Huntington colors, I thought you'd get more pleasure out of this."

Pleasure was the furthest thing from his heart tonight.

It had all been very well to look at the stars and think of her, when his time away from home had been short-lived. But on this journey, when he'd already been gone for months and had months more ahead of him, he found it disheartening to stand alone and speak to her, when she wasn't there to hear or answer back. Especially after the argument they'd had, when he'd told her he was planning to leave for war.

"I shouldn't have bought you jewelry, after you threw my ring in my face," he said out loud, with a grin that melted into sadness.

A rustle of skirts behind him made him turn around to look. The lovely figure standing in the shadows made him catch his breath as his heart began to race.

It couldn't be, and yet...!

He saw her lately so often in his dreams, he seemed to see her standing here before him now, a vision in Huntington green and gold.

Moonlight flowing from behind the clouds broke the illusion. Masking his disappointment while his heart sank, Robin dropped on one knee to bow to England's fair young princess.

"Your Highness," he murmured, sadly, tucking the beads into a fold in his cloak.

"Why so formal, Robin?" she asked, gliding right up to him in the graceful manner in which she always moved. "I should be bowing to you, after you risked your life to save me."

"Was there ever such a pampered prisoner?" he teased, rising and unknowingly adopting the easy manner she found so irresistible.

Johanna laughed, thrilled to be alone in his company in such a romantic setting. He was so handsome, with his strong young body, twinkling blue eyes, and strong, sensual mouth! Adopting a flirtatious attitude, she told him, "It's true, Tancred supplied me with every luxury. After all, he was attempting to woo me, even while locking me in a castle tower. But I've had enough of royal Sicilian husbands, with their harem of Saracen slave women who exist only to please their master's every desire."

A light blush swept over Robin's cheeks and ears, for at nineteen, he had been embarrassed to learn of the well established practice of the Kings of Sicily, a practice he felt had to be odious to their queens. A wave of pity for Johanna washed over him, as he pictured the young English bride she had been, arriving in a foreign land, only to discover her husband's debauchery.

"Good," Robin told her. "Ancient royal line or not, you deserve better."

Johanna held his gaze for a moment, wishing his would turn tender and passionate, rather than simply kind and respectful. Being alone with him like this brought back all the feelings she used to hold for him, feelings of yearning so strong, they stole away her confidence and self-possession.

She needed to say something before she disgraced herself as she had done before departing for her marriage, when she unsuccessfully begged him in the garden at Windsor to "take" her.

"At least Princess Berengaria won't have to compete for her husband against such practiced harlots," she said at last, somewhat bitterly. "Her only rival is my brother Richard's love of war, and glory on the battlefield."

When Robin cringed, remembering Marian's accusation against his own love of glory, Johanna asked, "Did I say something wrong?"

Shaking his head, he forced himself to smile, then assured her, "Not at all, Your Highness."

"Stop it, Locksley, with your 'Your Highness' this and 'Your Highness' that! After all the years we've known one another, and all the scrapes we've shared, if you don't call me Joan, I'll...I'll push you off the battlements!"

Robin's grin was real, lighting up his entire face. "It won't be the first time a young lady's pushed me off a roof!" he boasted, beaming.

Now, it was the princess's smile that appeared forced. "Let me guess. Lady Marian?"

Hearing her name was better than wine, to Robin. "You guessed right! The Sheriff of Nottingham's daughter might look beautiful, but take it from me, she has a strong right arm!"

Johanna had no wish to waste her time alone with the handsome Robin of Locksley, by discussing his former betrothed. Deftly dropping the subject, she steered the conversation back to the topic of brides.

"For a soon-to-be bridegroom, Richard seems awfully noncommittal. He's more excited about our mother bringing his bride, than about the bride herself."

"Well," Robin offered charmingly, hiding his disappointment at the change of topic, "your mother is known to be a remarkable woman!"

Enthusiastically, Johanna agreed. "She is! How I've missed her! To think, at her age, undertaking a journey across the mountains in the dead of winter, to bring Richard his little Spanish bride! No other woman her age would attempt such travel, let alone a strong young man!"

"There are men back home, waiting for Spring before setting out to join Richard's army," Robin confirmed. "Henry of Lewis, for one. You remember him."

"Vaguely. Isn't he the one who's frightened of bees? Fine soldier he'll make, against Saladin's armies!"

While Robin's thoughts flew to upcoming, glorious battles against the infidel, Johanna found herself sad and wistful, thinking of her mother, Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine.

"I always think of Mother at Christmastime," she confessed, sadly. "How horrible it must have been for her, uncovering my father's infidelity when she loved him so completely!"

Robin didn't speak, realizing Johanna needed to unburden her heart about her mother's grief over her father's betrayal.

"Mother closed her eyes to my father's indiscretions, while he was away at war," she explained, seemingly unable to help herself from speaking aloud private matters concerning her royal family. " 'If Henry has an itch, let him scratch it,' she used to say, confident he only truly loved her. But all that changed, when she found out about his 'little trifle,' as she called Rosamund Clifford. That blond convent-bred hussy, young enough to be my sister, was kept by my father in a house he paid for, and when Mother learned where she was, she travelled through a blizzard, eight months pregnant with John, just to take a look at her. It broke her heart, but she took one look, without deigning to speak a single word to the girl, and travelled back home to Oxford. Her misery brought on her labor, and she gave birth to John early, on Christmas Eve. No wonder she found it hard to love him, though he's always been a frightful little beast! John's completely unworthy of our mother!"

Johanna looked up, into Robin's caring, thoughtful eyes, feeling herself, once again, slain by their incredible manly beauty. This wasn't the direction she'd wanted this interview to take!

At least, she'd achieved a type of intimacy between them, by pouring out her heart to him. But it was far from the sort of intimacy she desired.

"There!" she said, flashing an apologetic smile. "I'm afraid I've bored you by my stories!"

"Not at all. Your love for the Queen is admirable, and well deserved."

"She loves you too, you know," Johanna responded, gaily. "So much, in fact, she once schemed to make you part of our family! Do you remember when she planned to have us betrothed?"

Spying the Venetian beads in Robin's fist, she exclaimed, "What's that? Don't tell me you bought me a present? Look! They match what I'm wearing, perfectly!"

...

**(Note: Venetian glass beads, still popular today, are a bit out of period, having been brought back to Venice by Marco Polo, nearly a century after this story is set, but I couldn't resist including them. The other details about the royals are as accurate as anyone knows, since the events happened so long ago. Queen Eleanor did give birth to her last child, John, on Christmas Eve, after walking through a blizzard to confront her husband's mistress Rosamund Clifford, who was nearly twenty years her junior, and it is reported she took one look at the innocent looking, lovely girl, didn't speak a word, but returned to the castle, sick and broken hearted, and gave birth early, then showed no love for her son, unlike all her previous children, whom she adored. I find history so fascinating, and I love writing it into my stories, and I hope you all enjoy learning it, too! Also, the story about the Sicilian kings keeping a harem of Saracen slave girls is supposed to be true.)**


	6. Chapter 6

Excited as a schoolgirl in the throes of her first "crush," Johanna grabbed at the string of beads in Robin's fist. Reacting as if the princess was trying to snatch something priceless away from Marian, Robin clutched the beads tighter, pulling back his hand. The string snapped, scattering beads of green and golden-coloured glass all around them.

The beads made a pattering sound like rain on a rooftop, as one by one they dropped to the wooden floorboards. A few shattered, but most simply rolled on the floor, before becoming still.

"I'm terribly sorry!" Johanna cried, realizing the necklace had not been intended for her. "It wasn't meant for me, was it? If I thought it cost anything, I'd reimburse you, but I know that won't be necessary. I'll tell you what! I'll buy you another, just like it! They're for sale in every marketplace."

Her words made his gift to Marian, chosen with so much care, seem tawdry and cheap. "No," he told her, staring at the ruin of his dream at his feet. "That won't be necessary." Heaving out a sigh, he recovered his good spirits, and the face he lifted wore a half-hearted smile. "Probably wouldn't have lasted anyway."

"I still feel awful! How rude you must think me, when it wasn't even mine!"

"It's alright. I'm just honored you wanted it, when you're covered in jewels."

"Not covered, Locksley. Bedecked."

"Bedecked to bedazzle, for that's what you're doing."

He was only being charming, she realized, not meaning what he said in that intoxicating, golden voice of his, nor wanting anything from her other than her friendship and regard. It was only a game, with charm flowing as naturally from him as rain from a cloud. But she intended to change that!

Wanting to keep him alone with her on the battlements as long as possible, she suggested another game to intrigue him. "I hate to think of that necklace going to waste! I know! How would you like to make use of those beads, and absolutely guarantee my brother's fleet smooth sailing, all the way to the Holy Land?"

"A challenge! Alright. What's your plan?"

Johanna's smile brightened, and her eyes glittered with fun. "You've heard of our famous legendary monsters, haven't you, that lurk in the straits below us?"

"Scylla and Charybdis," Robin said with a grin. "Said to smash ships against the rocks, or suck them to the bottom of the sea. Of course, they wouldn't dare try their tricks, with your brother on deck!"

"Don't be so certain! They don't fear Richard! But I, having lived among them for a year or two, have learned their vulnerabilities. They crave glass beads! Feed them, and they'll let your ship pass, undisturbed."

Robin chuckled, amused by her story. "Don't tell me Hercules was able to swim past them, by feeding them beads? You're destroying a young boy's illusions!"

"You certainly know a lot about Sicily for an Englishman, Robin of Locksley!"

"I like legendary heroes," he boasted. "Wouldn't be surprised if I wasn't one myself, some day."

Johanna laughed, warmed by his swagger. "You and my brother!" she teased him. "It wouldn't surprise me, either. But I hear the monsters demanding we feed them! They can smell the beads!"

"Shall we? One thing I'm good at, is feeding the hungry!"

Grinning infectiously, Robin scooped up a fistful of beads, then tossed them over the castle wall, into the surf below. Johanna followed him, doing the same. "Eat, Creature!" she laughed. "Tell your master Neptune to spare our ships!"

Every fistful Robin tossed, felt as if his heart was being ripped from his chest. These were Marian's beads, cast now into oblivion, like their lost love. It hurt, yet he kept throwing them over the wall, laughing and grinning with the princess.

_Stop it, _he told himself. _They're only beads. They're nothing! _

Johanna was so giddy, she fell into his arms. Turning suddenly serious, she looked longingly up at him, her emerald catlike eyes steeped in desire. "Kiss me," she breathed, filling him with unspoken longings for the maiden he left behind.


	7. Chapter 7

Never before, in his fifty-eight years, had Sir Edward of Knighton, Sheriff of Nottingham, felt so helpless or anxious. His one true treasure, his beloved daughter Marian, lay ill and listless in her bed, and there was nothing he could do to help her.

Marian's door opened, emitting a wise looking middle-aged woman, carrying a sack filled with herbs and medicines.

"How is she?" Edward asked Matilda, trusting the plain-spoken healer over any trained or educated physician he knew.

Matilda placed a vial of liquid in the sheriff's hand. "Sleeping peacefully now, thanks to this potion," she answered, trying to hide her concern over Marian's recent fragile health.

Of all the young ladies in the shire, Lady Marian was the last one Matilda expected to fall ill and despondent. She had always been such a healthy, robust young thing, riding and running about outdoors in all sorts of weather, doing a damn good job keeping up with that handsome young rogue, Robin of Locksley!

"Robin?" Marian's voice called weakly now, in her drug-induced sleep. "Where are you?"

Sir Edward's sigh was heavy with dejection.

"It's that boy's fault," he told Matilda, unable to hold his tongue any longer. "It's killing her, that he's gone. I think she worries he won't come back!"

Matilda almost chuckled. "When she wakes up, be sure to tell her it'll take more than an army of heathen infidels to kill that boy! By my account, he only entered this world alive through sheer force of will, along with a little help from me! Take my word for it, my lord sheriff, Robin will be back, covered head to toe in honor and glory!"

"I wish you would tell my daughter yourself. Any time I try to bring up that young man's name, I'm met with stubborn denials."

"Good!"

"Good? What do you mean?"

"It shows she hasn't lost her spirit. Oh, it's buried, beneath her grief and worry, but it's still within her. And if I know your daughter the way I think I do, she won't mope and waste away for long. What she needs, when she's feeling better, is something to occupy her, keep her feeling busy and useful."

Sir Edward hung his head and sighed.

"What is it?" Matilda asked, wishing the father had half his daughter's spunk.

"Marian wanted to attend the Council of Nobles with me, last week. She pulled herself from her lethargy, and asked if she could accompany me. Of course, I told her no."

"Of course, nothing! Why didn't you let her? If one of my patients shows a trace of pushing through whatever ails them, I don't deny them what they need! Your Council, however foul and boring, might be mother's milk to her!"

"I was hoping she might show an interest in a proper woman's pastime, like embroidery."

"Men! What made you think she'd suddenly take an interest in something that's never been anything more than a chore to her?"

"It's a worthy pursuit, for a lady. If she'd only give it a chance, she might discover she likes it. She can thread a needle deftly."

"And I can hum a tune, but that doesn't make me a minstrel! Take my advice, if you want to see your daughter's eyes sparkle again. Let her attend your Council of Nobles, and let her speak her mind there, too. She's got more wisdom in that pretty young head of hers than the rest of your assembly combined!"

"I'll do anything, if it will only make her well."

"Good. When she wakes up, give her a spoonful of this, for her fever and headache. She may take a little broth, if she's up for it. And don't blame the boy too much."

"I don't. He was only doing his duty, serving our king."

Matilda frowned. _And what of his duty to your daughter?_ she couldn't help wondering.

In spite of her fondness for Robin, she couldn't help shaking her head at him, being fool enough to leave the young woman he loved so deeply, to go chasing after Pope Gregory's dream of reconquering Jerusalem.

"Sleep well, Lady Marian," she whispered, as she left Knighton Hall. "Build your strength, so you can give your young man a piece of both our minds, when he returns to you!"


	8. Chapter 8

Much was anxious...not to mention deeply disgusted by the dirty Sicilian hovel where he and his master found themselves wasting their time, when they could be back at the castle, snug in their beds, asleep.

He didn't blame Robin. Well, not completely. His master had only accepted an invitation to take a nighttime walk through Messina's streets, not realizing they might lead to dirty back alleys, home to taverns, brothels, and other such places of ill repute.

Surprisingly, Lord Sheridan, Trainor of King Richard's knights, as well as being the man who had invited Robin to walk, seemed perfectly at home in such filthy, squalid surroundings.

"More drink!" he called out, pulling a serving wench onto his lap. "Word of warning, Locksley! I live like I fight...with every bit of strength I've got!"

The other man in the party, a huge, blond, giant of a man, broke into loud, enthusiastic laughter that was somehow both wickedly suggestive and refreshingly honest.

Much didn't think he liked this LeGrand fellow, with his bulging muscles and his bluff manner. Having escorted Queen Eleanor and Princess Berengaria across the Pyrenees, LeGrand had only recently met Much's master, yet he'd slapped him on the back and made jokes when he noticed the way Princess Johanna's eyes never left the young, beardless lord. Robin had assured Much that LeGrand must be alright, since Queen Eleanor trusted him, and he personally liked the man's open, friendly manner. "Like a loyal, friendly mastiff," he'd tried to reassure Much, with a wink. But Much wasn't convinced.

Waiting anxiously up against a wall smeared with the remains of a thousand dead flies, and who-knew-what other disgusting refuse, Much shifted his weight back and forth from one foot to the other, watching his master drain dram after dram of the tavern's noxious brew.

Unlike Much, Robin was enjoying himself. Honored to be named Sheridan's "prize pupil," he felt he was passing some unspoken rite of manhood, getting drunk in a tavern with two such impressive, battle-seasoned soldiers. With every drink he downed, he found the tavern more welcoming, the jokes more hilarious, and the serving wenches...well, every one of the dark headed women began to resemble Marian.

"Beautiful," he slurred, seeing Marian through bloodshot eyes unable to focus.

"Beautiful, yes, but not my type," Sheridan responded, referring to King Richard's bride-to-be, the future Queen of England, whom they'd been discussing. "You brought her across the Pyrenees," he reminded LeGrand. "What do you think of her?"

"She showed courage," LeGrand's voice boomed, with approval. "More than I expected, from such a dainty little woman."

Sheridan snorted. "Like like a chapel in winter," he scoffed. "Beautiful and holy, but does nothing to warm a man's blood. Unlike this buxom wench here, eh, my pretty?"

The serving wench wriggled to be free, while the English soldier's hands roamed freely over her hips and thighs. Seeing an opportunity to make a bit of money, she tried to steal Lord Sheridan's purse, but the much older man felt her treachery and stopped her, slamming his dagger into the table by way of warning. With an angry growl, he released her. When he wasn't looking, she spat in his drink, then sashayed away.

"Marian, come back!" Robin called, rising on unsteady feet. "I didn't kiss her, I swear! I told her about us!"

LeGrand's laughter rang out again, but Sheridan rose to push the young lord back into his seat. "Sit down, Locksley," he ordered, far from amused. To LeGrand, he complained, "Looks like Locksley's had enough."

"The pup!" LeGrand laughed. "He'll learn, in time!"

"Yes, but who will be his tutor? Princess Johanna, or that dirty serving wench he called 'Marian?' "

Both men enjoyed another boisterous laugh at Robin's expense, while Much anxiously scurried forward, eager to drag Robin out of such a filthy hovel. Supporting him under his armpits, Much began scolding his master as he pulled him out the door of the tavern.

"Marian would be more than angry if she saw you now," he warned, "especially if she knew you called that...that horrible woman by her name!"

"Like the princess," Robin slurred. "Always have. Just can't compare, right, Much?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about! Now, I'm taking you home! Well, not home, that would take far too long, but home to the castle, for now! And you're going straight to bed! I don't care who you are, you can't stay out all night."

"Much," Robin asked, bleary-eyed and confused. "What was Marian doing in that tavern?"

But he never got an answer, for just then, he leaned over and was sick.

"Unbelievable!" was all Much could find to say. Accidentally stepping into the slimey goo, Much complained, "Ugh! I hate this! That is revolting!"


	9. Chapter 9

"Where is Locksley?"

King Richard was growing impatient. A select group of his most skilled knights had assembled at his command, ready to begin demonstrating their skill at arms to entertain and impress his future bride. All were ready, that is, except for Robin of Locksley.

"Is Robin late again?" Queen Eleanor wondered, a flicker of affectionate amusement adding a twinkle to her eye. "Johanna, I trust _you_ are not responsible for Locksley sleeping in this morning!"

"Unfortunately, Maman, no," her adored, youngest daughter admitted.

LeGrand's loud, suggestive laughter caught everyone's attention.

"LeGrand," Queen Eleanor said, drawing out his name with a mild, yet amused, threat. "Do you know why Locksley's late?"

Before LeGrand could answer, Lord Sheridan stepped forward and bowed. "Locksley is feeling a bit under the weather this morning, Your Majesties," he explained, "after spending an evening with myself and LeGrand, exploring Messina's finer attractions."

While Princess Johanna's cheeks flushed in jealous anger, Queen Eleanor and her son King Richard began to smile. "So, Sheridan," the king jested, "you and LeGrand have taken it upon yourselves to complete the boy's education, have you? Well then, let's teach him another lesson." Summoning a page, the king ordered, "Fetch Robin of Locksley! Drag him out of bed by his hair if you have to, and tell him his king demands to see him shoot and fight!"

Turning to his future bride, King Richard softened his voice to tell her, "You won't want to miss seeing Locksley shoot. There's not another archer like him! As for his swordplay...well, he might not be up to his usual standard today, but I guarantee he'll impress you!"

"Thank you. I look forward to seeing all your knights fight."

Outwardly composed, Princess Berengaria of Navarre suffered a twinge of guilt from her words.

She couldn't let Richard know she felt squeamish to watch men fight one another, even if it was to be only a practice display. After all, Richard seemed so pleased and proud to show off his most expert knights, believing she would be every bit as thrilled to watch as his regal mother and sister. By all means, he mustn't know she would rather be on her knees before an altar, praying, or enjoying some moments of calm while meticulously embroidering an altar cloth.

If she had been able to choose her own fate, devout Berengaria would have elected to become a nun, rather than marry. Born a princess, she had little say about her future. Yet, she felt, God had richly blessed her with such a loving brother, who had arranged her match with King Richard only after he'd realized she had fallen in love with the tall, golden-haired prince.

A year before, Richard, then Duke of Aquitaine and heir to the throne of England, and the duchies of Normandy, Brittany, and Anjou, had arrived in her brother Sancho's kingdom of Navarre, seeking an ally to defend Aquitaine should his father King Henry do as he threatened, and wage war to secure it for his youngest son, Prince John. The threat, seemingly far-fetched, was very real, for King Henry II would do anything to spite his once adored Queen and consort, Eleanor of Aquitaine, by winning her own duchy away from her favorite son, Richard, and awarding to his favorite, Johnny.

Berengaria's devoted elder brother Sancho had struck an immediate friendship with Richard, becoming his staunch ally. As for Berengaria, she had been instantly smitten by the English prince, though she modestly tried to hide her feelings. Richard, after all, was already betrothed to King Philip of France's sister, Alys, though he seemed in no hurry to marry the lady. Unknown to her, he swore he never would, with good cause.

A jealous rivalry between father and son had led King Henry II of England to bed his son Richard's betrothed, Alys of France, before the wedding. Neither Henry nor Richard found the stick-thin, sullen, dark girl attractive, but Henry used her as a pawn, to prove himself a "better man" than his son Richard between the sheets, thereby establishing his dominance.

Justifiably outraged, Richard and his mother Queen Eleanor only continued the betrothal to avoid war with France, all the while secretly seeking a different bride.

On the final day of Richard's visit to Navarre, a jousting tournament was staged. Richard dominated all contests, winning all honor and glory. Yet, at one point in the tournament, when everyone feared Richard had been wounded, Berengaria could not hide her alarm. Her brother Sancho easily guessed her infatuation, spoke of it to Richard, and a new match was arranged.

And now, a year later, King Henry of England was dead, Richard was King, and she had travelled, far from home and from England, to be reunited with this amazing prince whom God had chosen to free Jerusalem! She was overwhelmed, but honored and happy to become his wife, his consort, and the future mother of his children.

Suddenly, the young knight whom everyone had been waiting for arrived, somehow managing a mixture of humility and swagger in his step. Another young man, obviously his squire, followed anxiously behind him, carrying his master's weapons.

"Apologies, Your Majesties," Robin of Locksley said, dropping on one knee before their dais.

"Your tardiness shows great disrespect, Robin," the king scolded him, but not without a dose of brotherly affection. "Just for that, you will demonstrate for my bride first, with swords. Roger of Stoke, step forward! Let's see what a night of drunken dissipation does to Lockley's quickness and skill!"

Roger of Stoke, a longtime friend of Robin's, whispered to him, "I'll go easy on you, Robin, considering."

"No," Robin ordered him. "Fight me as you would a Saracen, short of killing me, of course. There's no glory, if the battle's not real."

Much, knowing how ill Robin was from last night's drinking, couldn't help muttering under his breath, "There's no glory in dying, either! Don't come crying to me, when you're dead!"

**(Note: There's more actual history in this chapter than Robin, so sorry about that, but I needed to set up the characters and provide exposition. Hope you all still stick with me!)**


	10. Chapter 10

"I'm not saying anything!"

Robin, feeling ill and disgusted with himself, had no desire to hear Much upbraid him when he was already silently upbraiding himself for last night's drunkenness. This morning's hangover had cost him victory in the sword fight display against Roger of Stoke. Worse yet, he'd shot poorly with his bow, something unforgivable in his eyes. He only hoped he hadn't lost the King's respect.

"See what happens, when you drink too much?" Much began his litany of accusations at last. "Not only were you late for His Majesty's demonstration, despite my efforts to drag you out of bed and make you somewhat presentable, but you LOST, dishonorably, I might add, to Roger of Stoke, a knight you've always been able to beat! And not only that, you made a-"

"How was my loss dishonorable, Much?" Robin asked, fighting through the heavy feeling of lethargy he couldn't shake. "Agreed, I lost when I should have won, but there was nothing dishonorable about it."

"I'm not saying anything!" Much paused briefly, then exploded with, "You refused to yield, when Roger had...had...what do you call it when he unsworded you? Never mind! When he had you at swordpoint, crying out, 'Yield!' what did you do? I'll tell you what you did! You stubbornly refused to give in, until the King was forced to make you surrender and declare Roger victor! You just can't stand losing, can you? Admit it! I knew it! I knew you can't stand to lose!"

"I don't have much practice at it, Much. I've never lost before."

"You've never had a hangover before! That's your problem! Why did you do it, Robin? Why did you think you could out drink those two enormous men, especially with that poison that hell hole served you?"

"I just wanted to forget."

Much's mouth dropped open in surprise. He'd hadn't really expected an answer.

It wasn't like Robin to open up and confess his feelings. He must really be feeling weak from imbibing too much, if imbibing was the word Much wanted.

Robin's face looked so sad, tender-hearted Much instantly forgot to be angry. "Forget?" he asked, completely befuddled. "Master! Wha-wha-what is it you want to forget?"

A heavy sigh escaped Robin's lips. "I didn't realize how much I'd miss her," he admitted, sadly.

A moment's stunned silence gave Much the time he needed to comprehend his master's meaning. "Marian," he realized. "Well! We both miss home, I suppose. But chin up, Master! It's not like you to mope! Besides, we'll be home soon enough. Won't we?"

"What do you suppose she's doing?"

"Doing? What do you mean, doing?"

"What's she doing, right now?" Robin sighed again. "Every new sight I see, I want to share with her! I want to tell her things, and listen to her voice! I want to hold her, and smell her hair, and..." He sighed again. "I miss her, Much."

"Well, that still doesn't give you an excuse to drink yourself sick! Besides, you'll see Marian soon enough, when we go home."

"We have to reach Jerusalem first, Much."

"Well! There is that! We can't change the winds for sailing, you know! Only..." Much pointed Heavenward. "Only He can do that!"

As if on cue, a loud chorus af shouts and cheers met their ears. "The winds have changed!" a page cried out, at the King's command. "Hurry, knights and squires! Pack your things! The King commands we sail tonight!"

...

Princess Johanna tried her best to hide her misery from her soon-to-be sister-in-law as they made themselves comfortable onboard ship.

The two young princesses, so unalike in personality, felt an instant, mutual regard for one another that promised to bloom into a true, lasting friendship.

"I have a confession to make," Johanna told the calmer, peaceful Berengaria, "if you promise not to tell my brother. I hate sailing. It's the only thing in the world, I'm afraid of."

"If it's the only thing, you are very brave indeed," Berengaria responded, wearing her calm, beautiful smile. "I fear many things, but I trust in God for strength and courage."

Johanna could never forget the dangers she had suffered on her sea voyage to Sicily. Nervously, she wrung her hands, confessing, "Childbirth was nothing to me, compared to sailing."

Surprised by the passion in her new friend's voice, Berengaria offered, "Would you like me to pray?" Astute, she felt certain there was more to Johanna's anxiety than simply setting sail.

When the prayer was finished, Johanna appeared calmer, though eager to talk. "I miss Maman already!" she nearly cried. "Two years without her, and only a quick visit! Who knows when we'll meet again!"

"She is a wonderful woman, your mother," Berengaria said soothingly. "A legend, and yet so human!"

"Too human, some would say," Johanna admitted, smiling now. "Your soon-to-be family is very passionate, you know!"

With that, Johanna seemed to melt into a deeply yearning, unhappy sigh.

Although she did not speak, Berengaria could guess the cause of Johanna's misery. That slender young lord with the beautiful blue eyes who had been late for the demonstration, was surely not worth the princess' distress! A clear favorite of the royal family, and yet, a drunkard, who refused to yield when beaten! A young man who was almost too good looking, and clearly knew it! No, Berengaria was not impressed by Sir Robin of Locksley, even if he could shoot remarkably with a bow.

"You have children?" she asked, changing the subject. "You said you did not fear childbirth."

Pacing on deck, Johanna paused to sadly utter, "My one and only child was stillborn. A daughter. I didn't even get to hold her. And then my husband King William fell ill, and I never had the chance the have another."

"I am sorry."

"It's in the past. I'm looking forward to becoming an aunt, however! Richard always was my favorite sibling!"

Berengaria blushed violently, but looked pleased. Johanna liked her, in spite of her obviously sheltered upbringing.

"There!" Johanna cried, indicating the king's huge vessel sailing at their ship's port side. "There's my brother's ship! Isn't it splendid?"

_Not nearly as splendid as your brother,_ Berengaria was thinking, barely quieting a romantic sigh.

Scanning the deck of the king's ship, Johanna flushed beet red, all the way to the roots of her hair. Berengaria guessed she must have spied the young lord she so obviously fancied.

_You won't even kiss me, _Johanna was silently scolding Lord Locksley, across the waves, _yet you let Lord Sheridan lead you to a brothel! That's it, Robin of Locksley! I refuse to lower my dignity before you ever again!_

But Princess Johanna was wrong, on two counts. Robin had not been to a brothel, nor would Sicily be the last place she would throw herself at him.


	11. Chapter 11

"Please, Your Ladyship," Sarah the cook cheerfully coaxed, "just a few sips more."

Obediantly, Marian drank the remaining broth, though she had no appetite.

In a few years from now, wounded by Gisbourne, she would rise from her bed before she was strong or well enough to do so, but in her present depressed state, she'd lost her will to get up.

"I'm not a child, you know, Sarah," she complained.

"I'm sorry, Your Ladyship! That's what comes of raising a toddler! I'm always treating others like I do my Jess."

"You don't need to apologize. And thank you for the broth. It was delicious."

Taking the tray from Marian's lap, Sarah bobbed a curtsey and left Her Ladyship's bedchamber, just as His Lordship was coming in.

"How are you, Marian?" her father asked, searching her eyes for any sign of their former sparkle.

"Much better, thank you, Father."

She hated answering with so little feeling, wanting to stay strong for her father's sake, but she just couldn't find the heart. Everything seemed so bleak with Robin gone, as if winter had entered her soul.

"I'm such a ninny," she told her father. "I thought I was strong, but I'm...I'm sorry."

_Was that the reason, Robin, you didn't love me enough to marry me? Had you seen through my displays of courage, guessing they were false? _

Sitting down beside her on her bed, her father draped an arm around Marian's shoulders and pulled her gently against his side. "You're no ninny, Marian," he told her kindly. "You've just been ill. Here! Now that you're sitting up, feeling better, how would you like to open your Twelfth Day gift? I've been waiting a long time to give it to you."

"I would. Thank you."

For her father's sake, she tried to summon a measure of enthusiasm, feeling none. She felt empty, completely empty inside, and she despised herself for her weakness.

Her father handed her a small box that fit in the palm of her hand, tied up in green ribbons. "Well, aren't you going to open it?" he asked, already anticipating her joy.

But Marian could only stare at it.

Years ago, when they were little more than children, Robin had given her a similar box tied with nearly identical ribbons, but when she'd opened it, she found it was empty. "My heart," he'd told her, with an adorably sheepish grin.

_You were right, Robin of Locksley. And now it's my heart that's empty, thanks to you._

She found herself so angry, she wanted to throw her father's present against her wall. But, of course, she didn't. First carefully untying the ribbons, she lifted the box's lid to look inside.

A pair of glittering jeweled hairpins sparkled back at her.

"They're beautiful," she said politely, trying to force enthusiasm into her voice.

They were beautiful, as she said. Normally, she would have been thrilled to receive such an exquisite present, but her only thought now was, "He isn't here, to see me wear them."

"I thought, since you're such a young lady now, you might want to start wearing your hair up more often," her father explained. "Be careful putting these in, however. Their pins are sharp as daggers."

Marian kissed his cheek, snuggling closer. "Thank you, Father. I will treasure them."


	12. Chapter 12

The raging storm at sea at last subsided, yet Princess Johanna's nightmare was far from over.

Her worst fear realized, a sudden change in winds had driven her brother Richard's fleet into surging gales and blinding rains, separating the vessel carrying her and Princess Berengaria from the other ships. Clinging in terror to her future sister-in-law in the ship's dark hull, she could barely mouth her Hail Mary's while Berengaria prayed.

A sudden lunge, a deafening sound of splitting wood, followed by an eerie stillness made the two women realize their ship had run aground. But where?

Berengaria was more concerned over the sailors who had washed overboard and the ones still alive who'd been injured, than wanting to know their location. Soberly, the captain answered her questions, yet he had little information to offer Johanna.

"We could be back in Sicily, for all I know, Your Highness. All I can tell you is, we're shipwrecked, and lost."

"We must pray for the men who died, for their families and their souls," Berengaria urged Johanna. "But first, we must tend those who are hurt. Captain, where are the bandages?"

"There won't be enough, Your Highness," the captain answered, while Johanna could only watch, her already sick stomach growing even more squeamish at the thought of tending sailors' wounds.

"Well then," Berengaria decided, "we must cut the masts. We won't be needing them for sailing now."

Berengaria worked tirelessly, bandaging broken bones, all the while comforting toughened sailors with her kind words and gentle smile. Johanna could do little more than follow her, worrying over their own plight.

And after several hours, when their plight became clear to her, she discovered things were worse than she had imagined.

An army of men appeared on the shore, led by a man Johanna knew to be ruthless.

"Cyprus!" she announced. "We've landed in Cyprus!"

Berengaria knew the news was not good, yet she continued tending the sick, even while her worst fear, of rape and capture, tormented her.

Both princesses knew that the current King of Cyprus, Isaac Komnenos, was an evil despot who had murdered the rightful king and would think nothing of letting his ruffians capture and rape them, before ransoming them to England's King, if Richard ever discovered their whereabouts. Any sailors onboard would be captured and sold as slaves to the Saracens. And that same, evil Isaac was laughing at them now, toying with their fear before giving the order to attack.

"Queen Johanna!" he shouted up, recognizing the Dowager Queen of his neighboring island, Sicily. "You're looking ghastly! What happened? Run into a storm at sea? And who is your lovely little companion?"

"You don't frighten me," Johanna shouted back. "Be warned, my brother's fleet is just behind us, and should you allow your men to harm us-"

"Harm you?" Isaac lifted his voice in laughter, while all his ruffians joined in. "You're as spirited as your fine lady mother! I wouldn't mind having a go at you myself, after my men have finished with you!"

"You wouldn't dare."

"No? Watch me! Men! Get them!"

Berengaria's courage, so steady during the storm and its aftermath, now failed her. Dropping to her knees, she could only pray for deliverance.

It was Johanna's turn to display courage. "Captain," she ordered, "I know your men are not soldiers, but they must not let the Cypriots board this ship! Throw anything on board down at them, if they try to scale the sides!"

But it was not necessary, for Berengaria's prayers flew straight to Heaven.

Before anyone understood what was happening, the evil soldiers climbing the ship's walls screamed aloud in anguish, as one-by-one, they fell to the rocks below. At least, the ones who weren't impaled by arrows to the ship's sides fell.

Johanna turned her gaze out to sea, overjoyed to see her brother's ship sailing into the harbor, with Robin of Locksley poised on its prow, firing his bow. It was he who was picking off soldiers as they tried to scale her ship's sides. It was he who had saved them!

Before Richard's ship dropped anchor, the King of England shouted to his men to leap into the sea, charge the shore, and attack. Berengaria held her breath while Richard led the charge, with Locksley a step behind him.

The battle was quickly over, though desperate and bloody. Drenched in blood but with a battle high, Richard shouted up to his sister, "Thank you, Joan, for my wedding present! Cyprus will be useful as a supply stop, when we're in the Holy Land! Not to mention, a perfect place for my wedding!"

Isaac Komnenos was on his knees before the King, begging for his life.

"What do you say, Robin?" King Richard asked. "Should I kill this monster now, or merely imprison him?"

Robin felt no high from battle, though he would not admit it to his king. Just as he'd felt after battle in Sicily, he felt stunned, and troubled by the deaths he had caused, no matter how necessary. "Mercy is always warranted, Your Majesty," he argued.

Laughing, the king reached out and ruffled Robin's hair. "I'll grant your request, Locksley, for your marksmanship today! Alright! Take Komnenos away, and clap him in irons!"

Isaac Komnenos found he would almost prefer death. "Please, Your Majesty," he pleaded. "Not irons! As one king to another, spare me that humiliation!"

Richard's smile disappeared, replaced by his famous Angevin temper. "You would rape my sister, and my bride, yet have the gall to beg for mercy? Very well! I promise not to put you in irons! Since you claim to be a King, I'll have you clapped in silver chains! Take him away!"

Johanna, proud of her brother, couldn't wait to leave the wreck of her ship and thank Robin for once again saving her. She forgave him for what she believed he'd done in Sicily, determined to make him love her.

**(Note: Once again, a historical chapter, as opposed to a Robin-centric one, so I guess I can't expect many reviews, except maybe, "Who cares? Get back to our handsome hero! That's why we read your stories!" Patience, my young Paduwans. This chapter tells what actually happened on the king's voyage to the Holy Land, with Robin thrown in, so just enjoy the history lesson and be kind and review anyway! Please!)**


	13. Chapter 13

Outwardly, Robin appeared calm before his king, yet inside, he was in turmoil. He had no idea where Much was, or even if his friend still lived.

He knew Much had followed him off the ship, straight into battle with the Cypriots, but he couldn't find him now.

King Richard was glowing proudly in the aftermath of battle, basking in his victory, and Princess Johanna was chatting gaily in his ear, but Robin looked at the world through a haze. _Where are you, Much?_

At last, he heard his friend's familiar voice call out, "Master!"

"Excuse me, Your Majesty," Robin said, unable to wait for permission. To the princess's chagrin, he spun around, then, spying Much, ran to him and clasped him in a brotherly embrace.

"You're wounded!" he cried, as the blood from Much's arm stained his already blood-spattered tunic.

"I...I know it! Are you alright?"

Robin, usually so quick-witted and decisive, seemed at a loss. He could only stare at the gaping wound on his friend's forearm, blaming himself for putting Much in danger's path.

Before he even knew what to do, Princess Berengaria was beside them, bathing the wound and wrapping it in a clean, tight bandage.

"Sir...?" she asked, not recognizing Much.

"I'm...I'm not a knight, Your...Your..." Much was once again confused. "Am I supposed to call you Highness or Majesty? You're not my Queen yet, but you will be, very soon, I expect, and I want to get things right."

"I am still 'Highness'," Berengaria said with a slight smile. "And you are...?"

"I'm Much, Your Highness."

"He's my friend," Robin stated, protectively.

Much's wound bandaged, Princess Berengaria glanced up at Lord Locksley, seeing a completely different man from the far too handsome, cocky braggart she believed him to be.

There was nothing cocky about him now, though he had a right to gloat after saving her with his incredible marksmanship and bold courage. He seemed serious, concerned for this naive and innocent man he called his friend, as if nothing else in the world mattered. "Your friend, my Lord Huntington?" she repeated, still not trusting him.

"I'm his servant," Much clarified, "and, thank you, Master, I'm also his friend. We grew up together, in Locksley, you see, and Robin was always...Will I live?"

"Your wound is not deep. You will be fine."

To Much's surprise, Robin dropped to one knee and quickly bowed his head, first thanking God. Looking up, he then thanked the princess. "You know medicine, Your Highness?" he asked, still kneeling.

Berengaria found herself smiling, unable to dislike this polite, sincere young man anymore. "Only bandaging," she confessed. "I used to help the Cistercian Sisters of Tulebros, who taught me all I know. It came in very handy, when my brother Sancho hurt himself, learning to joust."

"It came in handy today," Robin admitted, rising. "Thank you."

Their eyes met in an expression of mutual understanding and regard. Quickly casting her eyes down, Berengaria at last understood Johanna's infatuation with this young knight, who was anything but arrogant in his friendship with a mere servant. Silently, she vowed to use whatever influence she might have with her future husband, to help Johanna gain Robin of Locksley as her husband.

"There are a lot of wounded soldiers," Robin was gently reminding her. "What can Much and I do to help?"


	14. Chapter 14

"Excuse me, Friar. May I speak with you?"

Friar Tuck, Sheriff Knighton's Confessor, looked kindly upon his lordship's lovely daughter as she stopped him in the inner bailey of Nottingham Castle.

Tuck had known Marian since she was a small child, and had watched her grow into a beautiful, kind young lady with depth, integrity, and principles. Extremely fond of her, he had been worried over her recent illness, and was sorry to see her looking so despondent now, though he understood her sorrow's source. After all, he had been planning to perform the young couple's wedding ceremony, before Lord Locksley left on Crusade.

"Of course you may speak, my dear. It always gives me pleasure to talk with you! Tell me, what can I do for you, Little Flower?"

Marian almost smiled. "You haven't called me that in years, Friar. I'm not a child any more, you know."

"Indeed I do! You have grown up to be a fine young lady, but you see, it makes me feel old to admit it. Forgive me my sentiment, and tell me what you need."

Taking a deep breath, Marian looked appealingly at the kind, fat friar. "The church does so much good for the poor," she began, boldly. "I was wondering, is there something I could do, to help you?"

_So! Is that all you need from me, Little Flower? And here I thought it was something serious!_

Tuck's response to Marian was tempered by an indulgent smile. "You needn't worry yourself, my dear. You and your father already give generously to the Church, as well as setting a fine example of Christian morality. Really, there's nothing more we need from you."

"But I want to help. There must be something I can do, to be useful to others."

"Continue doing what you already do. You're young, Marian. You ought to be enjoying yourself, with other young people. Let us older folk of the cloth worry about the trials and tribulations in the world."

Frustrated that he didn't understand, Marian's words rushed out like a flood. "But I don't enjoy young people's company! At least, not the young people here anymore. I want to do more than think about what gown I should wear, and which gentleman is eyeing what lady. I'm sick of gossip and meaningless chatter. I want to help people, and make a difference! I can't go to war and free Jerusalem, because I'm a woman, but there must be something I can do here!"

Even though he knew her well, Tuck was still surprised by her passion. _Of course,_ he realized. _You__ miss Robin. You wish you could have gone with him, like Much. Well then, I'll find something you can do, to make you feel better. _

"Would you like to help the sisters at Ripley Convent embroider altar cloths?" he asked, thinking she'd be pleased.

"Isn't there something more direct, that doesn't involve embroidery?" she asked. "I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but...Why is it always men who think I'm good for nothing but to embroider?"

Poor Friar Tuck looked so abashed, Marian hid her frustration. "I'm sorry, Friar," she told him. "I'm not quite well, yet. Forgive me."

"Of course I forgive you. Perhaps, if you're still a bit weak, you should rest."

Hesitating to go, Marian looked at Tuck, blurting out, "I need more than superficial forgiveness, Friar! I need absolution!"

Hearing Confession was something Tuck was able to do. Accompanying Marian to the chapel, he took his place in the Confessional and waited, fearing the lass had strayed with young Robin, before they were united by the sanctity of marriage.

"Bless me, father, for I have sinned," Marian's voice spoke out clearly.

Tuck's response was more than rote, for he truly cared about her welfare, and for Robin's. "What is your sin, my child?"

He waited nervously, for she seemed to be struggling to find the words to make her confession. At last, she said with a sob, "I have sinned by loving too well! I love him, Friar, even more than I love God!"

...

**(Note: I borrowed the idea of Marian claiming to love Robin "even more than she loved God" from the movie Robin and Marian, because I thought it fit here. Thanks to all of you who send me words of encouragement for my stories.)**


	15. Chapter 15

Henry of Lewis, waiting nervously for an audience with the Sheriff of Nottingham, wiped his sweaty palms on his trouser legs while silently rehearsing a speech in his mind.

Ever since Twelfth Night, when he'd gotten an eyeful of the sheriff's daughter, and a mouthful of snow after she'd pushed him from her coach, Henry had been revising his plans for his future. A brilliant idea had struck him as he angrily brushed the snow out of his ears that night, and all it would take now were the right words and manner toward the old man who carefully oversaw the business of the shire.

Why should he, after all, try to secure his future by impressing King Richard on distant battlefields, fighting a war only Christian idealists believed in? He'd only be overshadowed by Locksley, after all. Why risk his life, when the results were unlikely? Let Locksley do the fighting, since he was such a fool as to give up what he'd left behind, namely, the sheriff's beautiful, unmarried daughter! A daughter, by the way, who stood to inherit her father's house and lands!

The man who married her stood more than a fair chance of stepping straight into his father-in-law's position, when the old man decided it was time to retire and enjoy his grandchildren. And what pleasure it would be, begetting those grandchildren, off a wife with that face and figure adorning her!

No doubt about it...Lady Marian had blossomed into a tasty little dish Henry of Lewis whetted his lips over. He'd cure her soon enough of her spiritedness!

Now, for the exact right words and attitude, to gain her father's permission to woo her!

...

Far away in the darkened streets of Limassol, Cyprus, Robin of Locksley was trying to clear his head with a brisk walk through the meandering roads of the port city.

His footsteps led him to the docks, where he stopped to gaze out across the blue waters of the bay, enjoying the endless sound of surf pounding against the rugged coastline.

Unhappy because he'd left Much, too tender-hearted for his own good, alone in the castle, nursing his wounds because he couldn't accompany Robin tonight to the King's private supper, Robin could only sigh, thinking, "Believe me, Much, I'd rather stay and dine with you than risk another scene, disappointing the princess again." For Robin feared this private supper was partly designed to pair him with the Princess Johanna.

Unknown to him, it had been Berengaria's plan to invite Robin to dine with herself, King Richard, and Johanna, making them two couples at their intimate table for four in the ladies' private apartments. Still somewhat shy, though worshipping the huge, golden lion of a man she would soon marry, Berengaria sought to complete her happiness by making her future sister-in-law happy, and help her along with her pursuit of the handsome Lord Locksley.

A woman's scream pierced the air, spurring Robin to action. Running toward the sound, he came upon two English footsoldiers, foul with drink, holding down a struggling young woman with loose dark hair. Outraged and furious, Robin pulled them off her and used his fists to knock them senseless.

"Are you alright?" he asked the woman, who did not wait to be helped, but leaped to her feet, staring boldly at her deliverer from a pair of dark, knowing eyes.

"I was hoping you'd use your bow and kill the bastards, Robin of Locksley," she laughed, as though her rescue was all a big joke.

"I left my bow at the castle." Robin's tone was polite and kind, though underneath, he was wondering how she knew him. "You're alright now, in any case. You seem to know my name. Won't you tell me yours?"

"Take me to your king, and I'll tell you," the girl answered, brazenly linking her arm through his, making certain his strong bicep pressed hard against her breast.


	16. Chapter 16

From her seat before her untouched embroidery frame, Marian could hear Sarah the cook cheerfully singing as the servant prepared the midday meal. Every so often, Sarah interrupted her song to comment to her daughter Jess, who played about under her mother's watchful eye in Knighton Hall's cozy, warm kitchen.

Bored, unhappy, and lonely, Marian wished she could put aside her embroidery and step inside the kitchen to visit the pair. If Robin were here, he wouldn't hesitate to drop in and tease Sarah by snatching bites of food right off the platters. Jess, like every other child in the shire, adored Lord Locksley, and Marian could picture him now, making Jess squeal with delight as he lifted her high in the air above his head. But of course, visiting her own servants without Robin, just to talk, was out of the question.

Her father had taught her to always be kind and respectful to all people, but to maintain a proper distance from the lower classes, especially one's servants. It was right and proper, and only Robin, with his unusual ideas, treated all people the same, regardless of their station.

"It is only because both his parents died when he was so young," her father had explained to her, correcting her when he had caught her being pleasant with Much. "The boy had to depend on the affection of his people, who gave it to him readily, he was so winning. Robin gets away with it now, because he has a...a dignity about him, even when he's being cheeky."

"You did, didn't you?" Marian said softly now, sighing unhappily. "You were as natural in Dan Scarlet's company as you were in the King's, and just as respectful."

Gasping, Marian realized she was addressing Robin as though he were already dead!

"No," she whispered under her breath, "you're not going to die. You're too good a swordsman, and besides, you'll shoot any Saracen who threatens to get near you first!"

The sound of a horse cantering into her yard thankfully interrupted her nagging fear of Robin boldly taking unnecessary risks in battle. And although she did not feel up to receiving visitors, she welcomed the chance to escape from her thoughts.

"Thank you, Martha," she kindly told another servant, "but I'll answer the door myself."

Pulling open her front door to answer its knock, she barely mastered her outrage at seeing Henry of Lewis, the same beefy young man who had tried taking such liberties with her on Twelfth Night.

"I've just come from your lord father," Henry told her, shivering on her doorstep.

At that, Marian ushered him inside. "Has something happened?"

"Something wonderful. Your father has given me permission to pay court to you."

Marian froze, unable to believe what she'd heard. "Pardon?" she asked at last, her voice sounding weak in her ears. She'd only invited him over the threshold, forgetting her manners at the surprise of his unwelcome news.

"May we sit and talk by your fire?" Henry asked. "I'm nearly frozen from the cold. Mind you, I prefer it to summer. I nearly died once, from a bee sting."

Marian barely heard what he said. Her mind was still reeling from his other words. Still trying to make sense of them, she invited him to sit and thaw by her fire.

"I see you've been embroidering," Henry began, trying to be charming. "An excellent occupation for a woman."

He didn't really want to talk about embroidery. What he really wanted was to throw her on her back and climb on top of her. But that wasn't the way a gentleman won a lady, especially a lady whose virtue was still intact, as Lady Marian's was known to be. Still, didn't she look temptingly appetizing!

"Sir Henry, my father told you what?" she finally manged to ask.

"Your betrothal to Locksley's finished, yes?" he reminded her. "Leaving you free! I know we barely know one another, but I'm an ambitious young man, and I find you, Lady Marian, a gem among ladies! You draw me to you, with your beauty and accomplishments, such as your embroidery here, and so I ask you, is it any wonder I should seek to win you for my own?"

Marian, still surprised, found his suit not only insulting, but comical.

"And I ask you," she echoed, "was hiding in my coach, trying to molest me, your idea of winning me? May I remind you, Sir Henry, I pushed you into a snow bank!"

"I have not forgotten the unfortunate incident. Allow me to apologize for my rude behavior that night. What with having too much to drink, and confronted by your incredible loveliness, I fear I lost my head. And now, I've lost my heart! I ask for nothing but your pardon and your patience, so that you may begin to look upon me kindly."

Used to Robin's natural, undoubtable charm, Marian found Henry's pursuit of her pathetically annoying.

"I do not look unkindly at you," she told him. "I do not look at you at all! Aren't you planning to join the King in the Holy Land, when the weather thaws?"

"That was my plan, milady, but no longer. Something...someone...has captured me, and keeps me here, in this shire. I think you know who I mean."

Marian no longer found him amusing. His words only reminded her that Robin had not chosen to stay.

"I think you had better go," she told her hapless suitor.

"Go? But I've only just arrived!"

"No. I mean, Sir Henry, I think you had better go to the Holy Land, as you planned. There is nothing, under this roof, to keep you here, I assure you."

Sir Henry hid his anger and disappointment, knowing she was proud and wouldn't be easily won, but worth the prize, if he were successful. "Very well, I will leave you now, milady. But I will not leave the shire. I mean to woo you, Lady Marian, if you'll let yourself be wooed."

"I am sorry to disappoint you, Sir Henry, but I have no desire to be won. Goodbye."

When she shut the door behind him, she leaned back against it, dismayed by his visit. A dull ache began behind her temples, to match the ache in her heart.

Before the hour had passed, she was back in bed, her fever returned.


	17. Chapter 17

"Tell me your name," Robin invited the young, dark headed woman who was clinging so fiercely to his arm. "I promise to take you to my king, as you requested, but I'd like to introduce you, rather than simply present you as someone I met by the docks."

"Someone you rescued by the docks," she corrected, smugly. "If you'd stop hurrying, I could thank you with a kiss."

"That's very kind, but-"

Before he could stop her, the girl pressed her lips and her body to his and began kissing him eagerly, grabbing a fistful of buttock and squeezing it hard. With an effort, Robin broke away.

He wasn't at all attracted to the girl. Marian was the standard by which he judged all women, and this girl, with her coarse features and naughty expression, could not hope to compare. Still, it had felt good to be kissed again, after so many months missing Marian's soft, warm mouth.

"I'm sorry," he told the woman sincerely. "There's someone special, waiting for me, back home."

Robin broke into a tender, romantic smile, picturing Marian in his mind. _Sorry for that. I wish it had been you! Do you still smell faintly of roses? Do your eyes still flash when you're angry? And is your touch still tender, able to send sparks through me?_

The woman didn't seem to care that he'd broken the kiss. She'd taken his arm again, allowing him to lead her into the castle at Limassol, through its shaded corridors, and up steep winding flights of stairs to reach the princesses' private apartments.

Recognizing Lord Locksley, two soldiers guarding the door stepped aside, permitting him to enter. Upon seeing him, Johanna's face lit up.

"You're late!" she scolded, fondly, walking right up to him to pull him inside. "Garia was getting quite worried, but Richard and I told her, you're frequently-"

The tawny haired princess broke off, at last spying the brazen young woman standing just behind Robin, whose eyes seemed to burn as she stared at England's king.

"What have you brought us, Robin?" King Richard asked, intrigued by the girl's overt sensuality. "Or, should I ask, whom?"

In her little mincing step, the young woman stepped forward and dropped a deep curtsey, without taking her bold eyes off Richard's face. "I am Anna Komnenos," she explained, "daughter of your prisoner, Isaac, conquered king of this island."

Her revelation came as quite a surprise. The king was the first to recover. "Well then!" he proclaimed. "We must keep our eyes on you! Sit and dine with us! But I warn you, I refuse to release your father."

"I don't want him released," she surprisingly said. "He is your prisoner, as am I."

Robin looked to Berengaria, who showed no sign of uneasiness or jealousy, though Anna's meaning couldn't have been clearer. He waited for his king to dismiss the girl's advances, as he had done, but he waited in vain.

Something about this minx appealed to Richard, and Robin and Johanna could both see the effect she had on him. Both felt bothered, protective of Berengaria who was so devoted to her future husband.

But Berengaria, if feeling any uneasiness, certainly did not show it. "Of course you must dine with us, Lady Anna," she invited, kindly. "We must do all within our power to help you, and the good people of Cyprus."

His bride's voice reminded Richard of her presence, and his duty to her. Whatever instant attraction he felt toward the girl was pushed aside in his courtesy to Berengaria.

Seated around an intimate table originally set for four, Johanna began questioning the newcomer, her jealousy and dislike simmering when she learned of Robin coming to her rescue.

Listening with interest, Robin was surprised to feel a small, slipperless foot slide up his leg and rub against his thigh. Distinctly annoyed, he moved his leg away, and looked at Johanna with angry, questioning eyes.

It wasn't like her to be so brazen in her attentions to him! Her feelings, unwelcome as they were, were always clear, but never unladylike. When he felt the foot stroking his leg again, he pushed back his chair to move further away, really angry at Johanna now.

She didn't own him, to disrespect him and the king and future queen, by behaving shamelessly under the table. Johanna's face looked innocent, noble even, though suspicious of the unexpected guest.

Robin looked at the woman he had introduced into this exclusive circle, and realization hit him. Anna kept her burning gaze on Richard's face, except for one brief instant, when she threw Robin an audacious smirk.

It was she who had tried touching him inappropriately under the table. Relieved it hadn't been Johanna after all, Robin felt a wave of pity toward Berengaria, as he witnessed definite sparks between the brazen Anna and his king.


	18. Chapter 18

"Well, Robin," King Richard laughed, as the two men left the ladies' supper party in the castle of Limassol, "you certainly livened up my sister's party, by bringing along that guest!"

"Ruined would be more to the point, Your Majesty," Robin answered, picturing Princess Johanna's jealous frowns and sour attitude toward Anna Komnenos. "Your sister has taken an immediate dislike toward the woman, it would seem."

"And how do you find her?" the king asked, somewhat slyly.

Robin knew he needed to choose his words carefully. He too had formed a low opinion of the young, dark headed daughter of Isaac Komnenos, suspiciously regarding her thick lips, hard eyes, and brazen manners. It disturbed him to note King Richard's obvious infatuation with the hussy, whom he judged in every way inferior to Princess Berengaria.

"I imagine she's treacherous, just like her father," he said at last, answering truthfully.

The king appeared pleased. "I agree," he said with a smile, "which is why I intend to keep her under my watchful eye."

Robin couldn't explain the tug he felt at his heart, watching the king he revered steering toward behavior Robin did not condone.

"If I may speak frankly, Your Majesty," he said, needing to take a stand for Princess Berengaria, and for righteousness.

The king stopped walking, "Go on."

First taking a deep breath, Robin plunged ahead, knowing his words were likely to bring on Richard's famous Angevin temper. "Your Majesty's wedding is scheduled for this Saturday, is it not?"

"It is. It wouldn't do to wait and be married in the Holy Land, under Philip of France's wrathful eye. He's still expecting me to marry his sister Alys, but I plan to arrive in Outremer a married man. Philip can go to the devil, with his tantrums at finding his sister scorned."

Robin could tell that Richard was looking forward to the face-to-face confrontation with Philip, even though the two kings had sworn to fight alongside one another as fellow crusaders, to rescue Jerusalem. But he wanted to address the issue of marital fidelity, for he believed wholeheartedly in the sanctity of marriage, and instinctively, wanted to shield Berengaria from hurt.

"Your Majesty did well in choosing Princess Berengaria to be England's Queen," Robin mentioned, sincerely. "Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but you have a real chance of marital happiness with her. Please, Your Majesty, don't ruin it by making the same mistake your father did."

Surprised, Richard narrowed his eyes to stare at young Locksley, but his temper quickly abated, for he knew the man loved him and spoke out of loyalty.

"My father broke my mother's heart, and for that, I'll never forgive him," he admitted. "I suppose Garia's heart is far more fragile than my mother's, and so, you are right, Robin. It's my duty not to risk it. Tell me, do you believe in Love between a man and a woman?"

Robin, relieved by the king's promise, seemed surprised by his question. "Of course!" he answered. "I've felt it! I _feel _it," he corrected, thinking once again of Marian.

It felt bittersweet to allow his thoughts to dwell on her. His longing just to see her again had become a pain in his heart and in the pit of his stomach, like hunger. But thoughts of her lifted him as well, transported him to a feeling of joy so overwhelming, it seemed as if he was walking above the earth, almost as if he had the ability to fly.

The king was studying his young lord, this young man of such idealistic character, but found himself unable to understand his feelings. "The Sheriff of Nottingham's daughter?" he asked, knowing Robin had always been smitten with the lady. "My sister told me you'd ended the betrothal."

Robin broke into a grin. "The lady ended it, not me. But I intend to win her back, once we secure Jerusalem."

He couldn't stop smiling, already picturing himself back at Knighton, whistling for Marian, under her window.

He'd win her back, he knew it. "I love her," he said out loud, without meaning to. "I love her."

His smile brightened, and he was in a world of his own, having voiced aloud the words he'd never admitted to Marian's ears. But the king interrupted his sweet musings with a fond warning, "My sister will not be pleased to hear it, Locksley!"

"I need to speak with your sister again, Your Majesty," Robin realized. "I need to make my feelings clear."

"Yes, you do. Joan likes you."

"And I like her. Believe me, Your Majesty, I'm honored, but my heart is already taken."

The king stared again at his noble young archer, his own heart having no understanding of the stirrings within Locksley's breast. "I have a son, you know, Robin," he confessed.

"Yes, your Majesty."

"A lad of three, named Fulk. His mother means little to me, though I was fond enough of her at the time."

Robin waited, wondering what else his king's heart needed to unburden. But Richard had no need to confess anything else. How could he explain that he did not believe in the concept of True Love between a man and a woman?

There had been women aplenty, ready and willing to serve him whenever his physical urges had driven him to their beds. There had often been affection, but nothing akin to love, nothing remotely as strong as the love and admiration he felt toward his mother, for instance, which had nothing to do with physical urges.

Romantic love was a sham, he felt, similar to a jousting tournament. It was all for show, counting for nothing. It certainly could not compete with the passion he felt toward battle.

Still, he was pleased he would soon be marrying Berengaria, for she was suitable in every way to be his consort and England's queen. He vowed to be a good husband, and forget the urges Anna Komnenos had stirred within him.

"Thank you, Robin," he said, "for reminding me of my duty."

Robin bowed, then bid his king goodnight, his heart beating faster as he thought of Marian.

Arriving at the door of his rooms, he was alarmed to find Much arguing with Anna Komnenos, who had made herself at home in his bedchamber.


	19. Chapter 19

"Don't waste your time mending your master's clothes," Anna Komnenos told a startled, indignant Much, pushing her way through the door of Robin's bedchamber. "Your master is a very sexy boy, and I intend to rip his clothing right off him."

Speechless for once, Much could only stand gaping at the feminine intruder, opening and shutting his mouth like a fish.

Thankfully, Robin appeared on the scene, having heard Much's unheeded warnings and the dark-headed woman's plans concerning his clothing.

"I happen to like these clothes," Robin said coolly, hiding his nervousness behind a pleasant, confident manner, "and I prefer wearing them with their lacings intact. Now, where would you like my servant and I to escort you for the night?"

"I can find my own way to your bed, Robin of Locksley," the impudent girl replied, her dark eyes smouldering with desire. "It's only a few steps, after all."

"I'm sorry, but that's impossible," Robin told her.

"You won't let me thank you for rescuing me, when I didn't need rescuing?"

"You've already thanked me, and you _did_ need my help," Robin couldn't help boasting.

Anna smirked, then pranced toward the massive bed, throwing herself upon it. "We were only having a bit of sport, which you mistook for something else. But that's alright! I like you better than those other soldiers. In fact, I like you better than any boy I've ever seen! Don't you like me?"

Much's eyes bulged from their sockets at seeing this woman try to seduce his master. He longed to intervene and throw her out, but with a glance, Robin had signalled to him to let him handle matters.

"I like you fine," Robin lied, ever the chivalrous gentleman. "But you can't stay here tonight. I'm already spoken for."

Much, breathing a sigh of relief, thought the matter was ended. _Marian! _he was thinking, with satisfaction. _I wish you could be here! You'd throw that...that...that hussy out, or punch her out! Or both! That would be something to see!_

But Anna Komnenos had never heard of Lady Marian of Knighton. All she knew was what she had witnessed at the supper table. "You're expecting the Queen of Sicily here tonight? Or do you plan on sneaking back to her chambers?"

"Neither," Robin insisted, hiding his embarrassment. "You insult Her Royal Highness. She and I are friends. Nothing more."

"Maybe to you," Anna laughed, lolling back amid the pillows. "I saw the way she looked at you! She devoured you with her eyes, the way a peasant devours a crust of bread!"

Ignoring the woman's remark and wanting her to leave, Robin explained, "My lady is home, in England. My heart belongs to her, and so, I need you to go, and never-"

"She may keep your heart," Anna interrupted, rising provocatively to her knees. "All I want is your body, Sexy."

"You are revolting!" Much couldn't help exploding.

"And you are one too many," the girl told him, angrily. "Leave us. I'll take very good care of your master. I promise." Deciding on a lie, she continued, "Besides, these chambers belonged to me, when my father ruled Cyprus. So, if anyone should go, it needs to be you, Servant!"

Much was too taken aback to come up with a retort, but quick witted Robin responded, "Well then, you may stay the night."

"WHAT?" Master! Surely not!"

"Far be it from us to displace a lady from her own bedchamber," Robin continued, smiling. "Come on, Much! Looks like we need to find other accommodations."

Anna's jaw dropped open, the same way Much's had dropped earlier. "You don't want to go to bed with me?" she asked Robin, unable to believe he would turn her down. "Your 'lady' isn't here! She'll never know!"

"But I'd know, and I intend to be true, and wait for her," Robin said, missing Marian yet feeling lifted up at the thought of her.

"But, Master, where will we sleep?" Much asked, for he liked the small servant's room just off his master's bedchamber.

Robin shrugged his shoulders, grinning. "I don't know, Much," he answered. "Don't look so worried, my friend! Think of it as an adventure!"

Much snorted. "I'm not saying anything!"


	20. Chapter 20

"I, Richard, King of England, Ireland, and Wales, Duke of Aquitaine, Brittany, Anjou, and Normandy, take thee, Berengaria, to be my lawful wedded wife..."

Richard's noble voice and golden presence seemed to fill the chapel of Limassol Castle, a small setting for such an illustrious event. Only a handful of witnesses were invited to attend the royal wedding, conducted almost in secret as if to hide it from King Philip of France, who would be furious to find his sister Alys rejected and replaced.

Berengaria made a lovely, blushing bride, faultless in every way, yet Richard's mind was elsewhere. Thanks to Providence, he had recently discovered a type of stone in Cyprus, harder than any rock he knew from home. Even now, while he was being wed, soldiers were testing the stones, hurtling them from trebuchets to gage their destructive powers. If they proved as mighty as he suspected, they could be the weapon he needed to break down the walls of Acre. In a matter of weeks, Richard's army could capture that important port city in the Holy Land that Guy de Lusignan, inept as he was as a commander, had been trying to capture for the past two years. And with Acre his, Richard would have the necessary stronghold city into which supplies could flow, so that he could proceed to free Jerusalem from the Saracen infidels who now occupied it, persecuting all Jews and Christians.

"I, Berengaria, Princess of Navarre, take thee, Richard, to be my lawful wedded husband..."

Her voice, softly accented, brought Richard's mind back to his marriage duty. He was pleased with his choice of this beautiful, virtuous young princess to be England's queen, pleased especially that Berengaria enthusiastically supported his Crusade. It was clear she was happy to be marrying him, and he vowed to be a good husband.

His eyes glanced at his sister, standing up for his bride, just as young Robin of Locksley was standing up for him. Johanna would continue to be a good friend to 'Garia, he knew, while he was occupied with war. Already, his mind shifted back to battle strategies, even as the priest blessed his union.

...

Elegant and regally calm, Johanna appeared completely absorbed in the marriage ceremony of her beloved older brother to her new friend, yet inwardly her emotions raced up and down like a child's ball.

She hadn't spoken to Robin since the day he'd pulled her aside to have another heart-to-heart talk about his feelings toward Lord Knighton's daughter. He had tried to let her down gently, being Kindness and Courtesy personified, and even though he'd never returned her romantic feelings in the slightest way, Johanna's pride had been stung.

The youngest daughter in a family of eight children, as well as being pretty and spirited, Johanna had always been the pampered pet, and was used to getting pretty much whatever she wanted. She'd done her royal duty and married William, King of Sicily, and now that she was widowed and had her brother's promise that she could marry a man of her own choosing, she didn't like it that the man she chose preferred a dark-headed sheriff's daughter from the country.

What a heavenly place Cyprus could be for a honeymoon, yet Robin refused even to kiss her! She felt angry at Robin, even while admiring his steadfast loyalty and devotion to her rival. "I'll ignore you," she silently resolved, trying not to look at the handsome young noble who stood across from her, at her brother's side. "I'll...I'll make you jealous, by flirting with Leicester! And if that doesn't work, I'll...I'll flirt with someone dangerous. That will get your attention, I think! Let's see how long you hold true to a girl who broke your betrothal...a girl who's thousands of miles away, when your sense of chivalry is roused to protect me from a cad!"

...

Robin, honored to have been chosen by Richard to stand up for him at his wedding, could not keep his thoughts from Marian.

Never before had he listened so intently to the words of the marriage ceremony. "For better or for worse, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish..."

"It would be so easy to love and to cherish you," he thought, picturing himself on his knees before the altar, with Her kneeling beside him.

"What have I done? Why did I leave you? This might have been us repeating these promises, as soon as your father would let me have you."

Yet, for all his aching regret, he knew why he'd come. It was his duty to God, and to his king and country. Within a few days, they would set sail and reach the Holy Land, where their adventure would truly begin. Excitement welled up in Robin, and the Glory of the battlefield stirred his blood.

"I'll make you proud, Wren," he silently vowed. "I've been training for this for five years, and under King Richard's command, I'll help free Jerusalem, and restore it to the Christians and the Jews. And when all the battles have been won, I'll come home to you, and we'll be the ones saying our 'I do's,' I promise. Wait for me, Marian. Please wait for me."

A shadow passed over his heart. Never yet had he even considered that she might not wait...that she'd find someone else. Surely, with him gone, she'd have suitors!

Dismissing the thought with his youthful confidence, he broke into a grin, thinking, "Let them try! There's not another man who can touch me, and you know it!"


	21. Chapter 21

"The prince may seem handsome and charming, but I'm warning you, be careful!"

Lady Cecily, who had been to Court and knew Prince John, cautioned her friends to avoid the Prince's wandering eye in the Great Hall in Nottingham Castle. "I'm telling you, he can turn in an instant, one moment smiling, and the next...he's demanding you be put to death!"

With King Richard gone on Crusade, John sought to gain the people's love and support by going on a progress throughout the kingdom, showing himself to the masses as a benevolent ruler, his first step toward stealing his brother's throne. Unfortunately for him, he was unable to control his passions, and only the wicked and the selfish chose to follow him, recognizing an opportunity to advance their own careers. Everyone else learned to fear him.

Despite trying to blend into the tapestries decorating the walls, the group of young ladies found themselves being ogled by Prince John's eager eyes. Dropping graceful curtsies, the ladies silently cursed their low cut gowns, while the prince laughed gleefully at gaining a better view of their cleavage.

"Lovely!" Prince John announced, quite pleased. "No, my dears, no! Don't get up! I so enjoy a view of the northern hills in my kingdom!"

After a spell of solo musical laughter, the prince frowned, scowling, "Bored now. Get up, you cows."

Throwing himself into the sheriff's throne-like chair of state, with one leg draped over the armrest, the prince complained, "I thought I would receive love and adoration here in...where am I again, Sheriff?"

"Your Highness is in Nottingham," Lord Knighton quietly replied.

"Nottingham, that's right. All these stupid little towns look alike. What was I saying?"

"Your Highness was lamenting the fact you do not feel as well-loved as you deserve."

"Do _you_ love me, Sheriff?"

"I do." Fear made Sir Edward of Knighton lie.

"My father loved me," the prince pouted. "He wanted me to be king, not Richard. Did you know that?"

"King Henry was a remarkable king, Your Highness, unifying our legal system, founding the great university at Oxford, establishing-"

"Nobody else in my family loves me, you know. If I were on fire, they wouldn't even bother to piss on me, to put it out."

Lord Knighton had no answer for that remark, being unused to such talk. Nervously, he waited in attendance upon the prince, waiting for his latest mood to pass.

And pass it did, for at that moment, Prince John caught sight of Marian.

"Who is that?" he asked, leaping to his feet and staring.

Marian wasn't dressed as the other young ladies, revealing her bosom in a low-cut gown. Her simple, modest gown of white wool began at her neck, though it fit her well, clinging to her feminine curves. The prince was charmed.

"Why, she's a perfect gillyflower!" he cried, loudly enough for everyone to hear. "Tell me, does she smell as sweet as she looks? Come closer, my dear! Don't be afraid!" To Sir Edward, he boasted, "I'd like to pluck that flower and keep her to myself a few hours!"

"She is my daughter!" Edward cried aloud, outraged.

Marian, just past another bout of the illness she couldn't completely shake, wasn't aware the prince had been addressing her. Her attention was drawn to a serving girl completely ignored by the other nobles, whose puffy red eyes proved she'd been crying. "Martha?" Marian asked kindly, as the girl offered a goblet of wine. "Is something wrong?"

"No, Your Ladyship," the girl lied, wondering how she could stretch her wages to feed herself and three younger siblings, with their parents dead. "It's nothing."

"If there's anything I or my father can do," Marian continued.

"It's nothing." Embarrassed, the girl scurried away.

Sighing, Marian felt sad, and frustrated. It shouldn't be so difficult to help those in need, but with class distinctions prohibiting familiarity, it was impossible. Only Robin seemed able to break down those walls, without compromising a shred of his dignity. All those of good heart were the same to him, and he was respected for it.

"Oh, Robin, why did you go?" she thought again for the thousandth time, her heart aching with loneliness.

A spotty-faced page appeared at her elbow, bringing a smile, though still a sad one, to her lips. "Your lord father, the sheriff, beckons Your Ladyship," the adolescent boy squeaked, his voice cracking.

"Thank you, James," Marian said kindly, making the boy blush, for he secretly loved her from afar.

Her father looked anxious, Marian noticed, standing beside Prince John. "I know how to conduct myself with royalty," Marian was thinking as she crossed the Hall. "I won't embarrass you, Father."

A memory of when she'd been a little girl, jealous over Robin's attentions to Princess Johanna, and how she'd pushed the princess into dog doo, made her think, "I'm not a child." She didn't realize her father's anxiety stemmed from her womanly appearance, and the prince's attention to it. If she only could have always remained a child, Sir Edward would have had no cause to worry.

Still weak from her recent illness, Marian moved slowly across the room as though in a trance, her incredible beauty drawing every eye to her.

"Don't look now," Cecily whispered to her friends, squeezing their elbows. "Guess who's about to become Prince John's latest mistress!"

**(Note: I stole John's crude comment about his family not putting him out if he were on fire from the play/movie The Lion in Winter. In the script, Prince John accuses his family of not loving him so much none of them would "piss" on him if he were on fire to put it out, to which Richard replies, "Shall we strike a flint, and see?" or something to that effect. I watched the movie on television a week or two ago, and wanted to include the exchange in a story).**


	22. Chapter 22

Throwing one arm around LeGrand's neck and the other around Robin's, Lord Sheridan snidely laughed while boasting, "The bride won't be the only one tonight, to lose her virginity! What do you say we go hunting, boys?"

LeGrand's signature laugh echoed through the hall, annoying Much, whose big round eyes were staring widely, watching over his master.

Smiling, Robin made his excuses. "You'll have to count me out, I'm afraid," he said, his natural charm overcoming any insult his refusal might cause. "I mean to have a clear head tomorrow, when the bride's crowned Queen."

Already drunk, Lord Sheridan snickered, "Ravished tonight, and crowned tomorrow!"

"That's hardly the way to speak of a lady," Robin snarled, truly angry.

"Lighten up, Locksley! Do you know what your problem is? You're still a virgin, too, aren't you?"

"I don't see it as a problem. I've yet to be married."

"That has nothing to do with it! You're just a green boy, my friend! Come with me tonight, and we'll find some fine wench to rub the green off you!"

LeGrand laughed again, this time annoying Robin as much as Much.

"Thank you, but no," Robin answered, angrily.

"Think the princess will mind?" Lord Sheridan laughed. "Think again! Look at her, Locksley! She appears to have replaced you, with Leicester!"

Robin looked where Lord Sheridan indicated, and saw Princess Johanna holding onto the Earl of Leicester's arm in a very intimate manner. Johanna's emerald green eyes were gazing into the earl's with a flirtatious gleam, while the two exchanged a laugh.

_Good, _Robin thought, relieved to think she had finally given him up. _Leicester's a good man, and he's always been smitten with you._

"So, my young pupil, are you in, or out?"

"Or in and out, in and out, in and out?" LeGrand laughed boisterously.

"I'm taken," Robin smiled, a delightful warm flush rushing over him as he pictured Marian.

"Another time, perhaps," Lord Sheridan suggested, recovering an outer display of dignity.

When they had gone, Robin rolled his eyes at Much and breathed a heavy sigh. "Lessons from that man end on the practice field," he announced.

"Why is he so eager to...to...to corrupt you? What about the Code of Chivalry? You told me knights are supposed to honor women!"

"They are, Much. Lord Sheridan's older. But we're the product of a new and glorious age, under a new king, and I intend to keep my vows, and be true to my lady."

"Good idea, Master. Because if you weren't, and she ever got word of it, I couldn't answer for what she'd do to you!"

Happy, Robin laughed, slinging his arm around Much's shoulders. "That doesn't mean you and I can't go out and celebrate the king's wedding! What are you hungry for? You haven't tried the local specialty yet."

Much licked his lips. "Mmmm, the local specialty! I'm game! Well, not game! We're not going to eat me! What is it, anyway?"

"Octopus," Robin answered, grinning.

Much's mouth dropped open. "Oh, no!" he objected. "I'm not eating...You! Very funny! No, really, Robin, what is the specialty?"

...


	23. Chapter 23

Walking across the Great Hall so that her father could present her to Prince John, Marian couldn't ignore the bursts of giggles she heard coming from the wall on her right.

Cecily and her friends, all dressed alike in their low-cut gowns, were staring at her, not even bothering to hide their amusement. Marian, still weak from her recent illness and unaware of her beauty, felt awkward and unattractive. Their laughter made her remember an incident from her childhood, something she hadn't thought about in years.

It took place one Christmas, when Marian was just seven years old. Her elderly aunt, now passed, who had come to Knighton to visit, had presented her with a new gown. Marian had felt so proud of the gray and scarlet dress, enchanted by its small train and its long, hanging sleeves. She could still remember how grown up she had felt wearing it, being careful not to trip on its train on the stairs, and to keep her sleeves out of the gravy at the table. Her father had smiled to see her in it, and her aunt had pronounced her a fine young lady, insisting she preside over the table at supper, like the lady of the house.

Yet when Marian had worn the gown to a festivity for children of the nobility at the castle, Cecily and the other girls had shrieked with laughter over her "clown dress."

Bravely holding her chin high throughout the party, Marian had burned with shame. Arriving late, Robin hadn't heard the other girls' taunts, yet he knew something had upset "Wren," and he'd been especially kind and respectful that day, replacing his usual cheekiness with thoughtful concern. Marian appreciated his kindness, but later that night, alone in her room, she had stuffed the gown in the bottom of a chest, where it remained for years until the moths destroyed it, and had cried herself to sleep.

And now, Cecily and her friends were at it again, mocking her because her dress didn't look like theirs, or so Marian believed.

"I don't care," Marian silently told herself. "I'd catch cold again, if I exposed myself in dresses like that."

Feeling self-conscious and unattractive, Marian at last reached her father and the prince.

"Your Highness, may I present my daughter, Lady Marian?" her father was saying, nervously.

Marian knelt in a low curtsey, then raised her eyes to look at the prince, who was studying her with a warm, interested smile.

"But my dear, you're charming!" Prince John exclaimed, surprising Marian with his enthusiasm. "You're even more lovely upon close inspection!"

"With respect, Your Highness," Marian couldn't help saying, even though she knew it would displease her father, "I don't wish to be inspected at all."

"With beauty like yours, you can't help it! But tell me, my dear, you don't have any objection to dancing, I hope?"

Marian's smile was genuine, losing its lingering sadness. "I love to dance," she answered, flashing her dimples.

Marian found Prince John to be an excellent dancer, and she soon forgot about Spiteful Cecily and her giggling friends. She began to enjoy herself as she hadn't done since she'd argued with Robin about him leaving for battle.

It was flattering to be singled out by the prince, and she enjoyed his attentions to her. Her cup was never allowed to be empty, her feet rarely allowed to be still, as Prince John devoted himself exclusively to her.

"Take that!" Marian smirked silently, to a man thousands of miles away. "You have no idea who's paying court to me tonight!"

It was a very good thing he didn't, for Robin knew Prince John's true character, though Marian didn't. Flattered, she wasn't smitten, for she found the prince somewhat silly, and as Robin had said, there wasn't another man to compare with him. But she found herself enjoying His Highness's attentions, liking him much better than his sister, the Princess Johanna.

She had no idea what the prince's true intentions toward her were, but she was about to find out.


	24. Chapter 24

Showered with Prince John's devoted attention, Marian grew more and more uncomfortable as the evening progressed. The prince was, after all, a married man, but he seemed to have forgotten his new wife, Isabella of Gloucester, in his familiar attentions toward the Sheriff of Nottingham's beautiful daughter.

"I know who you are!" he suddenly realized, after Marian tried to excuse herself for the third time to leave his side. "You're the one who belongs to Locksley! Tell me, my dear, do you think he'd be jealous, if he knew what we were up to?"

"Jealous?" Marian repeated, seriously affected by hearing Robin mentioned.

Instinctively, she knew he would be...jealous of how the prince was lavishing attention on her, refusing to let her leave his side, even when she begged to be excused, claiming she had a headache. "Believe me, Your Highness," she told him, "I don't belong to any man, least of all Robin of Locksley."

Prince John, absorbed in his own thoughts, barely heard her. "What sport!" he exclaimed, "making Locksley jealous! I almost wish he hadn't joined my brother on his glorious Crusade! We can only hope some Saracen will strike him down, can't we, leaving you all for me!"

Marian went pale, as the room began spinning around her. Her worst fear, spoken in jest by the prince, seemed to drain the blood from her head.

Gripping John's arm to steady herself, she desperately sought news of Robin. "The fighting...has it begun?" she asked, picturing her beloved Robin falling to an army of faceless, dark-skinned warriors. "Has anyone been hurt?"

"We can only hope! But must we speak of my brother's Crusade? Nothing bores me so much as talk of that! Especially when there are so many other pleasant things to discuss, and to do! But my dear, you've gone pale! Can it be for love of me?"

"I feel faint. Please, Your Highness, I just need air, is all."

"But of course!"

Prince John's laughter was loud and gleeful as he led Marian away from the crowded Great Hall to a lonely, secluded, outside passageway. Every eye followed them as they left, exciting John to no end. "Just think how envious the men are, at me having you all to myself!" he crowed to her, when they were completely alone.

Before Marian could recover, the prince grasped her in his arms and began brutally kissing her neck.

"Get off me!" Marian stormed, wriggling free from his grasp. "How dare you?"

"Dare? I am the prince! I can dare anything!"

"Not with me."

With another hearty laugh, he lunged at her, grabbing a fistful of her bodice to tear it. But Marian was too quick for him. She might not be able to flip backwards off the roof of a house or the top of a tree, like a certain young lord she knew, but she'd taught herself to execute a series of flips upon the ground. Performing them now, she stunned the prince with her agility.

"My dear!" he cried, delighted by the novelty, "you're an acrobat!"

_Acrobat...it was only a stepping stone away from being a clown. _Cecily's childhood taunts came rushing back at her, making her feel ashamed and coloring her cheeks.

Nevertheless, she held onto her dignity. "I learned to flip, as a means to get away, should I need to," she told him, coldly. "I could do better, without my dress hampering me."

"Then by all means, take it off!" Prince John demanded, already picturing her naked. "But slowly...slowly! I want to savor your undressing."

Wanting to slap him, Marian restrained herself, knowing such an action would cost her a hand, or worse. Thinking quickly, she tried another approach.

"Your Highness," she said, looking at him with her most appealing gaze, "as honored as I am by your kind attention, I beg you, let's return to the party. Remember your wife!"

"My wife? Why, I barely recall what she looks like! I only married her for her dowry, and oh! how I adore spending all that delicious money!"

By this time, he was chasing her, edging closer and closer while she moved away.

"I see you're making me work for my conquest!" he cried, laughing gleefully again, enjoying this game of cat and mouse. "It will only make your capture that much sweeter!"

Seeing no other way, Marian leaned over the wall, took a deep breath, and jumped. The twelve-foot fall hurt her ankles, but not so badly she couldn't run away.

Surprised, and instantly angry at losing his prey, Prince John returned alone to the Great Hall, fuming and raging.

"Sheriff!" he screamed, making everyone tremble.

Meekly, Edward of Knighton approached. "Your Highness," he bowed, wondering what his daughter could have done now, to so enrage the prince.

"Deliver your daughter to my bedchamber tonight, if you value your job as Sheriff! I want that girl warming my bed, and if I can't have her, I promise you, I'll bring you so low, you'll be reaching above your head to put on your boots!"


	25. Chapter 25

"What did you call that, Master? The Tower of...WHAT?"

Much, squinting in the fierce glare of the noonday sun, stood just behind Robin on the deck of King Richard's ship, not as close to the prow as his daring young master, but close enough to his friend to grab his body and pull, should the ship pitch, thereby threatening to plunge Robin into the sea.

With a strong eastward wind behind it, the ship sailed at a fast clip, covering dozens of knots in little time. The two young Englishmen, not yet accustomed to the white-hot intensity of the eastern sun, enjoyed the cooling breeze and the sea spray on their sunburned faces.

Robin's eyes glittered with excitement, gazing at long last upon the fast approaching shoreline of the Holy Land, or more specifically, the port city of Acre.

"The Tower of Flies, Much," Robin answered, excitedly. "See it? It's a famous Acre landmark."

"I knew that! But why do they have to call it THAT?"

"Trust me, you don't want to know! You won't like the answer."

"I'll like it better than you _not_ telling me! And judging from all the filth at its base I can already see from here, and from the swarms of disgusting black flying things I can see buzzing around its...its column, if column's the word I want, I believe I already know the reason, I think you'll find!"

"It does look to be Acre's refuse heap," Robin considered. "But there's another reason for its name, Much."

"I want to know, Master. Tell me."

"Alright!" Already anticipating Much's reaction, Robin couldn't keep the grin off his face. "In the Bible, Much, Acre's called Ekron, one of the cities that worshipped Ba'al-zebub, literally translating to 'The Lord of the Flies.' "

For a moment Much was silent, his eyes and mouth wide open.

"Him!" he cried at last, shuddering as he hurried to make the sign of the cross over his breast. "Oh, Master, surely not! I thought we were going to the Holy Land, not some place where they worship...they worship...You-Know-Who!"

"They worship Allah now," Robin explained, with a touch of bitterness. "Which amounts to pretty much the same thing as the devil. But don't worry, Much! We're going to take this city back, and God will be worshipped here again!"

"Don't worry, he says...humph! That's easy for you to say!"

Robin, never yet having met any Saracens, was filled with prejudice against them from all the stories he'd been taught. In his mind, they were an evil race who rejected God, and did unspeakable things to Jews and Christians. Young as he was and eager to fight, he rarely stopped to consider there might be good as well as evil people among them.

"The Saracen women cover their faces in public, Much," he continued, his eyes excitedly scanning the city walls as the ship drew nearer and nearer. "It's the law, I've been told."

"Cover their faces?" Much snorted with laughter. "Can you imagine Marian, being told she has to hide her face in public?"

"Covering her face would be the real crime, hiding all that beauty!"

In spite of himself, Robin's voice caught in his throat, just speaking about the girl he loved, so many miles away from him.

The mere mention of his beloved made him sigh. He missed her terribly and wished they had married before he journeyed away on this adventure. That way, at least, the Princess Johanna might have left him alone. Sighing again, he remembered another scene he been forced to endure yet again, bidding Johanna goodbye on the island of Cyprus.

Until the king's troops conquered Acre, Richard's sister Johanna, wife and Queen Berengaria, and pet prisoner Anna Komnensus, were to remain in Limassol, safe in the castle. Once Acre fell into the Crusader's hands, the three women would be sent for, to reside in Acre while Richard, together with King Philip of France, Guy de Lusignan, and Leopold of Austria's armies, waged their campaigns to conquer city after city, on their way to free Jerusalem.

Innocently believing Johanna had finally accepted his insistence that his heart belonged to another, Robin had been unhappy to find the Princess pull him aside just before the fleet sailed. With tears stinging her proud emerald-colored eyes, Johanna had thrown herself at him yet again, hating herself for making a scene.

"What about Leicester?" Robin had asked, almost angrily.

"It was an act!" she explained. "I was hoping you'd be jealous!"

"I wasn't. I'm sorry, Joan. I like you, I really do! But that's all! How many times do I have to tell you, I love another!"

He'd never actually said it out loud before. He'd known it for years, known he loved Marian, but he couldn't remember actually speaking the word. It took his breath away.

He didn't know why it was so hard for him to admit. Maybe it was because he'd lost the people he loved most, at such an early age. Or maybe it was because Marian, so beautiful and willful and proud, might tease him mercilessly if he told her. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter now. He was losing patience seeing the princess, usually so noble and proud, continue to beg him for something he would never give her.

Returning his mind now to his conversation with Much, Robin told his faithful friend what he himself had been told, concerning the Saracens.

"Marian need never hide her face in public, because she's beautiful. But Saracen women are hideous, Much, except for their eyes. They've got huge, hooked noses, and foul twisted mouths, with blackened and missing teeth, not to mention whiskers and warts on their chins!"

"That is revolting!"

Looking at the top of the city walls, Much pointed, exclaiming, "Robin! I think I see one now, but her face isn't covered, and she's not ugly!"

Robin spied her, too, an attractive young woman, staring in fascination at the vast fleet of English ships streaming into Acre's harbor.

Suddenly, a man, another Saracen, roughly pulled the woman back from her vantage point on the city wall.

Robin's sense of chivalry was aroused by what he considered the man's rough treatment, not even considering the possibility that the Saracen was only trying to protect his wife from the invading English army. Without stopping to think, Robin whipped an arrow to his bow, took aim, and shot.

Silently, the Saracen clutched his breast, then fell from the city wall, straight to his death into the sea below.

"Master!" Much cried, aghast.

Robin, barely breathing, stared with wide, unblinking eyes at the top of the city wall. The woman, now clutching a baby to her breast, was leaning over the wall, crying and screaming.

_What have I done? _Robin thought. _That man must have been her husband...that baby's father! And now, in the blink of an eye, I made her a widow, and the baby fatherless!_

Suddenly, King Richard appeared striding toward Robin and Much. Immediately, the two young men kneeled before him.

"Excellent shot, Robin!" the king bluffly cried. "You've scored the first English kill! I know you're eager, but next time your finger itches, wait until I give the command to shoot. I mean to conduct this Crusade with all honor and glory."

"Yes, Your Majesty," Robin managed to mutter, his throat dry.

_I've committed murder, _Robin thought, dazed and horrified by what he'd done. _That man had done nothing to warrant my arrow! __I'm a senseless killer._

"Let's get you back to your cabin," Much decided, seeing how unhappy his master looked. "After a nice rest, you'll feel better."

But there would be no rest, for at the moment, the ship dropped anchor, jolting to a stop in the hot noonday sun.

**(Note: The Tower of Flies in Acre is historical, also the fact that Johanna, Berengaria, and the daughter of Isaac Komnenus, whom King Richard was infatuated with, stayed in Cyprus until the crusaders conquered Acre. Everything else in this chapter comes from my imagination.) **


	26. Chapter 26

Never one to run, Marian smoothed her skirts and her hair, then returned to the Great Hall in Nottingham Castle, to resume her place as her father's hostess at his banquet honoring their royal guest.

"Surely," she thought, "Prince John won't try his tricks on me here, before my father and his guests."

But sadly, she didn't know what atrocities the prince was capable of, nor that he had just demanded her father to deliver her to his bedchamber for a night of passion.

To her immense relief, Prince John ignored her when she returned. Her father, however, signalled her with his eyes, looking worried and distraught.

"Father, what is it?" she asked, in a loud whisper.

"Go home," the sheriff ordered her. "This is no place for you."

"Home?" she asked, bristling with wilfulness. "Why?"

"Just do as I tell you. Get your cloak, and leave. I've already ordered the coach made ready, to take you home."

"Don't be ridiculous," she told him, her recent encounter with the prince making her bolder and more disrespectful than she wanted to be towards her father. "I was planning to sleep here tonight, in my rooms. Surely you need me to help you entertain your guests! Besides, I was having a wonderful time."

"Just do as I tell you!"

At that moment, an elderly gentleman and a friend of Edward's, Sir Lawrence of Lincoln, approached and executed a gallant yet old-fashioned bow.

"Edward," he joked, "I hope you're not keeping this lovely young lady all to yourself tonight! I was hoping she might grace me with a dance."

"Marian was just leaving," Sir Edward announced, sternly.

"I would be honored to dance with you, Sir Lawrence," Marian countered, taking the old man's hand.

"You were a Crusader in the last Crusade, weren't you," she begin conversing, while the pair danced slowly. "What was the Holy Land like?"

She couldn't resist asking, wondering all the time what Robin was experiencing.

"Hot," he responded, smiling. "What I saw and went through, are not for such delicate ears as yours, Lady Marian."

"My ears can handle whatever descriptions you can remember. With the King journeying there, I'm really very curious to know what it's like."

"You mean, of course, with young Locksley journeying there!"

He'd meant to please her, but she didn't look at all pleased by his observation. "I will tell you what the women wear," he offered, hoping to smooth things over. "That should interest a young lady, such as yourself."

"Please, Sir Lawrence, I've no interest in ladies' fashions. What was the fighting like? How did the cities look, and function? I'd really like to know, firsthand, from someone who's been there!"

"In public, Saracen ladies cover their faces, all but the eyes. Believe me, Lady Marian, it makes them very mysterious! They're veiled from the eyes down, so you see nothing of their noses, mouths, or chins! In private, or among none but their own people, they are said to be less modest about their faces! What's curious is, they hide their faces, yet wear garments we consider scandalous on a lady!"

In spite of her denials, Marian found herself quite curious about the women of the Holy Land. Robin, after all, might have contact with them. Not too close contact, she thought quickly! But he would see them, and she couldn't help but be disturbed by Sir Lawrence's mention of their "scandalous" clothing."

"What kind of garments?" she asked.

"The ladies wear gowns, as you do here, yet often, their gowns end just below the knee, and they actually wear trousers under them, very full, gathered trousers, but trousers all the same!"

"I envy them," Marian admitted. "It must free them, to move more easily."

Before either of them had a chance to finish their conversation, Prince John, impatient and very drunk, charged between them, ending their dance.

A hush fell upon the Great Hall, as the musicians ceased playing, and all chatter stopped.

"Oh, you adorable girl!" the prince smiled. "You little tease, you! You dared flee your prince, then reappear here, dancing with an old fart! If you wanted to make me jealous, my pet, surely you could find a younger, more virile man to dance with!"

"I had no intention of making Your Highness jealous," Marian answered, already having come up with a plan to "scare" the prince away. "Sir Lawrence and I were just discussing our symptoms."

"Symptoms?"

"Please, Your Highness, you mustn't get too close! I've been ill. In fact, I haven't yet fully recovered. I was just asking Sir Lawrence about his recent illness, to learn whether I might still be contagious. And, to my great dismay, he's just informed me that I am! Now, perhaps Your Highness understands why I ran from you, outside?"

"But I can cure disease!" the prince proclaimed. "Let me lay my hands on you, and I shall heal you!"

Before Marian could stop him, the prince clapped both hands on her breasts and squeezed. Immediately, she leaped back, freeing herself from his offensive grasp.

Thinking quickly, while everyone looked on in amazement, Marian began to cough.

_Robin, __if you were here, you'd be more than up to assisting me with this charade! But no one else, not even my father, knows what to do! I'm on my own, I suppose. _

Luckily, her coughing act worked. Prince John fairly ran from her, hiding behind Lady Cecily's gown.

"Someone, get her out!" he shrieked. "She'll infect your prince!"

"I'll go," Marian offered between coughs, dropping a quick curtsey to the prince, then throwing a look toward her father, as if to say, "You see! I can handle myself!"

She was glad to escape to her rooms in the castle. She wanted to think about the descriptions Sir Lawrence had made, concerning the ladies in the Holy Land. Something about the idea of hiding her face behind a veil, whilst wearing trousers, intrigued her.

"To be invisible, yet able to move like a man," she thought. "Pure freedom! I wonder if...I wonder if I could somehow dress like a Saracen, and no one would know me! But what would be the point? I would have to do some good in my disguise, or what would be its purpose?" I wonder..."

For the first time in a very long time, Marian fell asleep, happy with unformed, undecided plans swimming in her head.


	27. Chapter 27

After the merciless, searing heat of day, nights in Acre could turn surprisingly bitter with cold.

Inside his tent in the king's camp just outside the city, Robin awoke with a start. And although the weather was freezing, the young crusader lay drenched in sweat.

"Master, are you alright?" Much was asking, huddled under a blanket on his own cot nearby. "You were dreaming again!"

Tormented by his nightmare, Robin could only nod.

"Master?" Much asked again, concerned and anxious.

"I'm fine, Much. Go back to sleep."

"I'm not saying anything. I'm not saying anything. We shouldn't have come! We should have stayed home, by the fire at Locksley, and everything would have been fine! You could have married Marian, and I could look after you both, instead of coming here, to this horrible place, with its spiders and its snakes, not to mention its flies! And the cold! And the heat! It's even more unbearable! And we haven't even begun fighting yet! Not _really_ fighting! Just wait until that happens! I can't even imagine what horrors we'll go through then, if we aren't killed first! I'm sure if we had stayed at home and you had married, the way everything had been arranged, you wouldn't be having your nightmares, with Marian sleeping beside you!"

"Shut up, Much! Just shut up, alright?"

"I'm not saying anything." A brief pause ended by Much exploding, "You never had nightmares before, but now! You can't even close your eyes, without waking up all tortured and sweaty! What do you dream about, Robin, anyway?"

"They'll pass, Much. They'll go away, once I get used to..."

His voice trailed off, helplessly. "Goodnight, my friend," Robin said, rolling over onto his belly on his cot.

While Much kept up a litany of complaints, Robin tried to shut him out, reliving the recurring dream he suffered ever since he'd shot and killed the Saracen on the city walls.

He'd killed since, killed scores of men, so many in fact the other soldiers had given up trying to count them.

He was already known to the Saracens as "Rami Es-Sahem," the "Mad Archer," for while the crusader armies' trebuchets relentlessly pounded Acre with Cyprus boulders to break down the city's protective walls, Robin seemed to be everywhere at once, balancing on rubble to pick off Saracens with his bow, dodging well-aimed arrows from enemy sniper bows, firing his own without seeming to aim, yet never missing a single shot. At first, his fellow soldiers kept a running tally of the number of men he killed, until bold young Locksley began lining up multiple arrows on his bow, making it impossible to keep count.

Yet none of the Saracens he killed haunted him as the first one, the man he'd shot from aboard King Richard's ship.

In his dream, it was Marian who appeared as the woman on the wall, holding the baby while crying and screaming, watching her husband fall to his death with an arrow through his heart. And it was he, Robin, who was shot.

"I'm sorry," Robin whispered to Marian now, into the darkness of his tent. "I've killed our chance for a life together, without considering how it will hurt you, if I don't make it home. And even if I do, I'm...I'm not the same man any more. I'm not worthy of you, Marian. I'm a killer."

No! He refused to accept it. He was guilty, he knew; his conscience was too strong not to accuse him. Yet he was only doing his duty to his king and country. And every Saracen he shot, increased the odds that his fellow crusaders would live to fight another day. That _Much _would live to fight another day!

He should not have let Much come. Much was no soldier, no matter how relentlessly Robin tried to drill and teach him everything he himself had been taught by Lord Sheridan. Innocent, tender-hearted Much would be no match for battle-seasoned Saracen warriors with no Christian mercy in their hearts.

"Much," Robin spoke up at last. "When we do manage to break through the walls, and we charge, I want you to stay back, and take care of things here. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Master. Goodnight, Robin. Oh! I hate cold!"

Robin breathed a sigh of relief. Whatever happened, he knew he'd never be able to forgive himself, should anything happen to Much.

Letting his thoughts dwell on what Much had said, about Marian sleeping beside him, Robin forgot the cold and his killing, and fell asleep longing for home and the beautiful girl he loved.


	28. Chapter 28

Amazed and impressed by Robin of Locksley's incredible talent with the bow, crusaders with time on their hands lined up to take archery lessons from the young Earl of Huntington.

"Five shots are enough for your first lesson," Robin told the other soldiers. "Your muscles, no matter how hardened, aren't used to handling the bow. You'll only overcompensate, and shoot incorrectly, which I can't allow. It's harder to correct bad habits once they're formed, than to learn new ones."

Grumbling, "Yes, Captain," the men agreed, leaving Robin alone with his bow, and his thoughts.

His mind flew back to the archery lessons he had given back home. And as always, his memories of home centered on Marian.

_"What are you doing here?" he'd asked her, pleased and delighted when she presented herself to take archery lessons, along with her father's castle guard. "You already know how to shoot."_

_"I can improve, can't I?" she challenged, not daring to admit she only wanted to spend more time with him._

_"I think you're only interested in bow range," he considered, thinking. "If you pull back farther, like this-"_

_"So, you're a mind reader now? I don't want bow range! I'm telling you, Robin, I want archery lessons."_

_He studied her, moved by the determined lift of her chin and the fire in her beautiful eyes. "Alright!" he agreed, more than pleased at the opportunity to challenge her, and see what she was capable of, with her bow._

_Glancing back at the men awaiting his instruction, Robin couldn't help notice the smile on Joe Lacey's face. The kind, older guard, a true gentleman soldier still deeply in love with his wife Ruth, enjoyed watching the squabbling and sparks between Robin of Locksley and his betrothed, the spirited sheriff's daughter._

"Not half as much as I enjoyed it, Joe," Robin whispered aloud now, missing Marian so much it physically hurt.

"Master?" Much spoke up, hearing Robin's voice. "Are you alright? Who are you talking to?"

"Nobody, Much. Just memories."

"I do that, too, Master. Talk to people I miss, I mean, who aren't here." Wiping the sweat off his brow, he complained, "It's hot! Was it...was it Marian? You talked to her last night, in your sleep again, you know."

"It was Joe Lacey."

"Him! Why were you talking to him, instead of me? I'm here, Master! You never talk to me!"

"Never? We're talking now, aren't we?"

"Not real talking! You never tell me how you feel!"

"You know how I feel, Much."

"I don't! Ugh, this heat! It feels like my flesh is being roasted! A pig on a spit! Umm, I could do with some pork just now! Or beef! Beef would be nice!"

"Wait until we put on our armor, if you feel like being roasted alive! In fact, why don't you fetch my chain mail now? There's talk our trebuchets are just about ready to break through the last vestige of city wall."

"Wha-wha-wha-WHAT? Does that mean what I think it means? That we're almost ready to...to...?

"To charge. To force our way in, and take the city. Remember what I told you, Much. I need you to stay back! Saladin's stationed a troop of his fiercest warriors inside to defend Acre, and they're said to be bloodthirsty. You're not trained for hand-to-hand combat."

"Don't worry! I don't want to go anywhere near them!"

"Good."

Just at that moment, the two young men lifted their heads, hearing a tremendous crash and a mighty roar, followed by a trumpet's blasting call to battle.

"Much! My sword! My armor! Hurry!"

"Wha-wha-what?"

"We're in! I need to follow the king! Hurry, Much!"

Much hesitated, then ran after Robin who could not wait, to assist him putting on his mail shirt and long white tunic with its red cross, belting it around his master's slender hips.

"Good luck!" Much sputtered, anxiously. "Don't do anything foolish! Dying is not glorious, do you understand, Robin? Promise me you won't take any unnecessary risks!"

"We don't have time for this! Hand me my father's broadsword!"

Gulping, Much obeyed.

His wide, worried blue eyes caught and held the darker blue ones of his boyhood friend. "Don't die, Robin," he whimpered.

"You're my best friend, Much," Robin told him, clasping him in a brotherly embrace. "Whatever happens, I need you stay away from harm, alright? If I die, I need you go home, and tell Marian..."

"What? Die? Tell Marian what?"

Before Much could ask a third time, Robin turned and raced away, to follow at King Richard's heels, straight into the bloodbath that was to be the Battle of Acre.

"No!" Much cried, struggling to push arms through his own mail shirt and tunic. "If you die, I die!"

Repeating the words over and over again, like some religious chant, Much grabbed his sword and shield, disobeying his beloved master's orders, to follow him into battle.


	29. Chapter 29

Try as she might, Marian couldn't shake Prince John's unwanted, amorous attentions at her father's latest banquet honoring the royal visitor to Nottingham.

She wasn't feigning illness any more...she truly felt sick again, as a relapse of her recent illness threatened to return.

"Forgive me, Your Highness," she tried to excuse herself, while the prince practically drooled on her shoulder, and her father looked on, worried. "I have a headache."

"Where does it hurt?" the prince asked, more amused than concerned.

Beginning to feel nauseous, Marian pressed her fingertips to her left temple. "Here," she answered, truthfully. "If Your Highness will please excuse me-"

"But that's the side where your heart lies!" Prince John exclaimed, proud of his attempted gallantry. "By all means, you adorable girl, be excused!" Leaning into her, so that his wine-tainted breath brushed Marian's ear, he asked, "Where shall I follow to meet you?"

"Follow? I don't understand."

"Oh, you adorable tease!"

"Your Highness-"

"Never mind! I'll find you! You know how much I adore hunting!" Seizing her hand, he placed a kiss on it, leaving his teeth marks.

Hurrying away from the Great Hall, Marian was determined not to sleep anywhere in the castle where Prince John might find her.

"I'll go home," she decided, not caring whether a storm was blowing in from the east, the same direction as Knighton.

Wishing she could bid her father goodnight, and more importantly, apologize to him for her wilful behavior the night before, Marian pulled her cloak more tightly around her and hastened to the stables.

"Please, George, saddle my horse," she insisted, her head throbbing.

"Your Ladyship isn't thinkin' of riding out on a night like this?" the groom asked. "There's a storm brewin'."

"I don't have time for this! Please, do as I say!"

Even now, Prince John might have begun his "hunt" for her, and Marian had no intention of being the prince's prey.

"Be careful, Your Ladyship," the groom pleaded, handing her the reins.

"Thank you, George, I will." Somehow, Marian forced a smile. "Goodnight."

And with a clap of thunder and a bolt of lightning, Lady Marian was off, riding like lightning herself, into the storm.

...

It was over.

Heaving great gulping breaths of air, Much surveyed the carnage surrounding him.

There were too many dead to count, even if he could count. What was almost worse were the wounded, screaming out in agony, and the blood soaked body parts, strewn all throughout the city, as far as Much could see.

Quickly, Much studied his fingers, making sure they were still attached to his hands. He looked down at his legs and feet, and touched the top of his head, making sure he was still in one piece.

The Saracens, with their fierce, piercing, "La la la la la la la!" battle cries, did not fight like Englishmen. Or like Frenchmen, or Austrians, for that matter, but like maniacs. Even their weapons were different, curved, and made to slice off pieces of their enemies. While a broadsword could strike and plunge and hack, a Saracen blade could slice a man's head off his shoulders with a single swipe.

The battle was over, and the crusaders had won. Much and his master had survived unscathed, and Much reminded himself he had no reason to fear any more. Yet fear he did.

It wasn't the Saracens Much was afraid of now, however. It was Robin.

Robin was...Robin was not himself.

Never had Much seen the side of his master he had witnessed, during the battle. Initially, he had hung back, defending himself as best as he could, alarmed for Robin's life. Robin had fought valiantly, staying close to King Richard, doing all he could to protect his king. And then, Much saw that Robin was in trouble.

Fighting, Robin had plunged his father's broadsword into the belly of an attacking Saracen, and somehow, he couldn't pull it out. He was effectively disarmed, helpless amongst an army swarming around him.

Without thinking, Much reached down and grabbed the ivory handle of a weapon, a Saracen scimitar in a fallen Saracen's hand, and threw it to his master.

"Robin!" he cried, relieved when Robin caught it by its handle.

But, having saved him, Much knew that Robin had seen him, knew now that he had disobeyed his orders, and was here, in the thick of battle, fighting for his life. And that is when Robin ceased to be himself.

Was it some sort of heathen magic, transferred from the Saracen sword, that made Much's kind, generous master become so hard, so fearsome, so dangerous? Much did not know, but when he looked into Robin's eyes, he shivered.

The King was thrilled with the results of the battle, and was already promising to heap honors upon the young Earl of Huntington, Captain of his Private Guard, who had slain so many of the enemy. Much knew he was lucky, or rather, he and Robin had been spared by God's grace, when so many others had fallen. Much needed to vomit, but choked it back, not wanting to dishonor the dead by throwing up on them.

Gathering up his courage, he made his way, stepping over bodies and pieces of bodies, to confront his master.

"I know I disobeyed you, Master," he began explaining, nervously, "but it wasn't exactly the type of order I could keep! Not with you, dashing off into battle!"

"You shouldn't have followed me, Much," Robin told him, angrily. And then, softening at the hurt look in Much's eyes, he grabbed him around his shoulders, pulled him close, and told him, "I'm glad you did."

"You're...you're yourself again? Because, for a moment there, you were..."

"I don't think I'll ever be myself again. Come on! Let's see what we can do, to help the suffering."


	30. Chapter 30

"Robin! Robin, where are you?"

Delirious from a fever spiking to dangerous levels, Marian dizzily drove her horse onward through the lashing rain, deeper and deeper into storm-drenched Sherwood Forest. Every blinding flash of lightning revealed to her feverish eyes the image of Robin of Locksley, always a few feet just ahead of her, beckoning her farther off the road, away from home.

"Stop running from me!" Marian shouted to the image of the handsome youth carrying his bow. "If you care for me, Robin, you'll stop!"

He did care, didn't he? Then why did he run? "You told me you did! You tucked my hair behind my ear, and looked deeply at me with those eyes of yours, and said so. I never would have kissed you like that, if I hadn't believed you."

Who was he kissing now? The lovely, elegant Princess Johanna? Or some mysterious, dusky-skinned Saracen, who lifted her veil from her face, slain by his smile?

"Do you tell her you care for her, too? You listen to me, Robin of Locksley! I never said it, but my feelings run deeper! I happen to love you. Do you hear me? I love you, you fool! But I hate you, too, hate you for leaving me the way you did, for running thousands of miles away, for what? Battle? Glory? Or death? No! No, Robin, you mustn't die! You can't!"

An explosive clap of thunder spooked her horse, making him rear, spilling Marian from his back. Falling hard to the ground, she rolled away to avoid being trodden on, then lay sobbing in the mud, too sick and despondent to rise. Another flash of lightning revealed Robin's image to her again, holding out his hand to help her, his face full of kindness and pity. But when Marian reached for him, to fall into his arms, there was nothing there.

Wishing she could die, Marian lay back and closed her eyes, letting her hot tears mingle with the rain that continued to lash her face and body.

The next morning, after the rain had stopped, Matilda found her, deathly sick, and lying senseless on the forest floor.

…

Now that Acre had been won, the crusaders set to work rebuilding the city their trebuchets had destroyed.

The wounded lay suffering in a hospital founded by the Knights Hospitaller, an order of Christian, warrior monks. The dead were mourned and buried, with masses said for the Christians, while the Saracen dead were piled into huge mass graves.

Robin, having recovered his father's broadsword, found he secretly preferred the beautiful Saracen scimitar Much had tossed to him, in the chaos of battle. Secretly, he practiced wielding it, feeling a sense of guilt as he did so. Yet it was nothing compared to the guilt he felt at night, listening to Much cry on his cot.

"I'm sorry you're here," Robin would silently think, not letting Much know he was awake and listening to him cry. "I'm sorry you saw what you did...did what you had to, when you should be home, your biggest worry being what you want to eat for dinner. I'm sorry, Much. I should have made you stay at home."

Under the blazing July sun, the task of rebuilding Acre was nearly as hazardous as battle. Unused to the heat, crusaders dropped dead from sunstroke. King Richard himself grew ill, struck down with the malady known only as "Crusader's sickness." Hovering between life and death in his magnificent royal tent, Richard tossed and turned on his cot, muttering incoherent phrases from blistered lips.

"Unbelievable!" Much would cry, anxiously. "The king! He can't have survived battle, only to be struck down, by an illness? Oh, Master, surely not!"

"We need to pray for his recovery," Robin would respond, trying to hide his own sense of dread.

Oddly, a gift arrived for the English king, sent by his adversary, the great sultan Saladin himself. A basket of peaches, packed in snow from the mountains, arrived to help "cool" the English king's blood.

And another gift arrived, one that truly hastened Richard's recovery. Now that Acre was secure in Christian hands, Berengaria, Johanna, and Anna Komnenos arrived from Cyprus. With his bride keeping vigil at his bedside, Richard grew stronger, and when he began hurling abuse at his physician, everyone rejoiced that he was mending.

One torpid day shortly after her arrival, Johanna met Robin as he and Much were leaving the hospital.

"Robin of Locksley! You've changed!" Johanna cried, thrilled and excited to see him, while ignoring Much, as if he weren't there.

"Does it show?"

"I like it! You look devastating in a beard! Keep it that way, short and scruffy, so you don't hide that adorable cleft in your chin! Now, Robin, aren't you going to tell me how lovely I look? Where's your famous gallantry? A lady shouldn't have to beg for compliments, you know."

"Apologies, Your Highness. War has wiped the gallantry out of me, I'm afraid."

"I hope not! Why so serious, Robin? Aren't you the least bit happy to see me?"

"I'm sorry, Joan. It's hard to be light-hearted, after visiting the wounded. Those men in there would really benefit from a visit from you! You are, as you said, lovely, and-"

"I'm glad you finally admit it! My maid Aimee spent hours on my hair! But come, Robin! Let's step away from here! I just arrived, and I'm already sick of wounded soldiers. Come with me! We can drop in on Leopold of Austria, and giggle behind his back as he bores us with his endless talk of flower bulbs!"

"With respect, Your Highness, I'd rather stay, and have you cheer our wounded! We're already here, and it wouldn't take much of your time, looking in on men who may not last the night."

Frowning, Johanna demanded, "Why should I? If they won't last the night, they don't need me standing over their beds. In case you haven't noticed, Robin, I'm not a priest! Besides, once Richard's fully recovered, Garia will no doubt visit them. I suppose your Marian would do it, if she were here?"

"I'm sure she would!"

"Well, it's too bad she's not here, isn't it? Though she might as well be, since you can't forget her, even when I toss away my dignity, to throw myself at you!"

Robin didn't reply, being deeply moved at the mention of Marian.

It was true, he knew. He couldn't forget her, not that he wanted to. Thoughts of her were the only bright and beautiful thing he had to hold onto, among all the violent death he'd been part of.

She was Home to him, all the lovely things that represented home. She was his past; he hoped she'd be his future.

But until then, he needed to focus, and do his duty. There was so much that needed to be done. Repairs to Acre needed to be complete, before Richard could lead his army south, toward Jerusalem. Saracen prisoners, thousands of them, needed food and water. Soldiers needed constant training, if they were to survive the next battle, and that included Much.

Robin didn't have time to argue with the headstrong princess, who still persisted in "wanting" him, when he'd made his feelings to her crystal clear.

"Goodbye, Your Highness," he said at last, turning to go, taking Much with him.

"Master? Are you alright? She seemed pretty angry at you."

"She'll get over it. Now, where's your sword? I want you to come at me, with everything you've got. This is how you fend off blows."

...

(Note: As usual, I tried to include actual history. Richard's disease is factual. In fact, historians believe his fever was so high, it caused him to become sterile, which is the reason he and Berengaria never had children. He suffered recurring bouts of it for the rest of his life. Saladin truly did send him a gift of peaches packed in snow from the mountains, and later, when Richard's horse was injured, Saladin sent him a prized Arabian steed as another gift. The Knights Hospitaller did have a large hospital in Acre (obviously that's where the word hospital originated), which our hero mentioned in one of the episodes of the BBC series. Thank you, everybody for reading and please review!)


	31. Chapter 31

Marian awoke in a strange room, its ceiling hung with so many bunches of dried herbs, at first she thought she must be lying in the forest.

Her head hurt, and felt so heavy she didn't think she could lift it from the straw mattress to look around, and see where she was.

"Mother, she's awake," a young female voice called, and Marian recognized Rosa, a curly-headed girl about her own age, the daughter of Matilda.

"Let's take a look," Matilda tutted, shooing Rosa aside to study her patient. "Good afternoon, Lady Marian. How are you feeling? I know the bed's not so cushy as what you're used to, but it's a damn sight better than sleeping in the rain, on the forest floor. At least it's clean, and dry. And you can thank Rosa, for lending you her nightdress."

"What happened?" Marian asked, surprised to find her voice so hoarse, and her throat so raw.

"Shh. Save your voice. Drink this, and I'll tell you what I know."

"My father! Does he know I'm-"

"Didn't I tell you to hush? I suppose he should be told. Rosa! Go fetch the sheriff, and tell him we're keeping his daughter here, safe and sound. Now, young lady, drink!"

Whatever was in the steaming cup tasted nasty, but felt good going down, soothing Marian's burning throat.

"Now we can talk," Matilda said, watching Rosa through the open window, as she hurried away. "Or, I can. You keep still." Changing her tone, she began scolding, "What's happened to you? Do you mean to kill yourself, all because your young man charged off to war?"

"How dare you? I am the daughter of the sheriff, and my being ill has nothing to do with Robin!"

"That's the spirit! But I know who you are. I brought you into this world, don't forget! And I told you to keep quiet! Now, I want to know what you were doing, alone in the forest, in a rain storm. No, save your strength. You can tell me later."

"Vesper! Where's my horse?"

"Don't you worry yourself about her. I'm sure she's alright. Probably trotted on home, without you. Horses are a damn sight smarter than young ladies in love."

Marian closed her eyes, already feeling better from the effects of Matilda's medicine, and scolding. She felt safe here, secure in the older woman's no-nonsense caring manner, grateful even for its harshness.

"Three more months," she whispered, the words escaping her.

"What's that? Three months? August, September, October, oh! Three more months till your wedding! Am I right? You and Robin were set to be married, just after his twenty-first birthday!"

Marian didn't answer, just closed her eyes more tightly, fighting to stop her tears.

"You turned eighteen last May, and before that, he turned twenty, a month after leaving. Makes sense! So, now you're thinking you'll never get to wear that gown you so carefully came up with, and what will you do with all that golden fabric you already bought?"

"I don't care about the gown!"

"No, of course you don't. I just wanted to prod your spirit a bit. See if it's still there."

"And is it?"

"It's there alright. I just saw it."

"I don't feel it. I don't feel myself anymore. I never get sick, and now, I can't seem to get well!"

"You will. Give yourself time. Now, I've made you talk, after telling you to keep quiet! You try to rest now. Rosa will be back before you know it, bringing your father, and he'll be wanting to take you home."

Obeying, Marian rolled onto her side, the pain in her head and throat eased by Matilda's strong medicine. If only there was something as strong, to help the pain in her heart!


	32. Chapter 32

Weeks passed, and daily doses of Matilda's medicine strengthened Marian's health, though it did nothing to cure the cause of her illness. Broken-hearted, and racked with worry over whether Robin might die, Marian survived, a shadow of her former self.

One day, while walking down a corridor in the castle, she was stopped by a strange man she was sure she'd never met before.

"Ah! Lady Marian, the sheriff's daughter! It seems I owe you a debt of gratitude!"

"Me?" Marian asked, wondering who the short, bald, bearded, sly little man dressed all in black could be. A small feather stuck to one of his cuffs, out of place with his otherwise meticulous appearance. "Forgive me," she politely continued, feeling at a loss, "but have we met? I'm sorry, but I don't remember your name."

"Met?" the man sniggered, unpleasantly. "A clue...no. I am Vaisey, a friend of Prince John's, sent here by His Highness to assist your father."

"Does my father need assistance? I thought the workings of the shire were exemplary. Surely Prince John saw that himself, on his recent visit."

"Again, a clue...no. The prince was most unhappy. I am here, shall we say, to _correct _things."

"Does my father know you're here?"

"Yes."

Marian wondered how any person could make a 3-syllable word out of "yes." But this creepy little man had done just that by drawling it out, as well as managing to belittle her with his arrogant, condescending tone.

"You said you owe me a debt of gratitude," Marian continued, disliking the man more and more, the longer she talked with him. "Please tell me what I did, to merit your-"

"My pleasure?" he interrupted, rudely. "Believe me, Missy, I have no interest in you in that regard! No! My tastes, shall we say, run down a very different path, hmm?"

Completely confused, Marian wanted nothing so much as to leave the strange man's presence. But he seemed to want to continue their odd conversation, trying to exert power over her by making her flustered.

"The prince was quite smitten with you, Missy," he said, sneering as if she were a rancid, maggot-infested piece of meat. "If you'd given him what he wanted, or your father had forced you, I wouldn't be here now, and my future wouldn't be half so promising, hmm?"

"I'm sorry, but I have no idea what you're talking about," Marian answered, honestly. "Please excuse me, but I need to speak with my father."

"You're excused," this Vaisey person uttered, grinning maniacally, as if laughing at her. "Be sure to give my regards to the dottering, lame duck."

Not even caring to understand, Marian hastened away, glad to be rid of the creepy, ominous presence of the man she'd just met.

...

Heaving out angry huffs of air, Robin leaned his back against a door, forcing himself to control his temper.

He'd only just come from a war council, presided over by his king, and composed of only the highest peers among the crusaders.

"Think, Robin, think!" he told himself, stretching his mind to come up with another solution to the council's nearly unanimous decision to execute the Saracen prisoners.

"There must be another way!" he told himself, unwilling to slaughter the thousands of men who had lost the Battle of Acre.

"Talking to yourself, Robin of Locksley?" Princess Johanna teased him, finding him after waiting for the council to end. "Or is it your precious Marian you're speaking to? Your servant told me you carry on one-sided conversations with her, when she isn't even here. I'd think you'd rather speak with me, instead of avoiding me the way you have. I thought we were friends, Robin."

"He won't do it! He can't! It isn't right!"

"What has you so passionate? You look criminally attractive, do you know that?"

"The king means to have all the prisoners killed, before we march south," Robin told her, wanting to enlist her help to stop the massacre. "Leopold of Austria and Philip of France, agree. In fact, everyone agreed, except for me. I shouted myself hoarse, trying to get them to see reason."

"So that's why your voice sounds so odd! I miss your sweet, golden tones, Robin! Don't look at me like that! You forget, no matter how pristine your bloodline, I'm still your better. Now, start again, but speak calmly. I'll help you, if I can. What's made you so upset?"

Trying to calm himself, Robin breathed out a heavy sigh. "Forgive me, Joan, I am upset. Your brother the king claims there's no other way, that we must slaughter the prisoners. He means to take revenge, for what Saladin's armies did to the Christians at Hattin."

"When they lined up thousands of Christian prisoners, and sliced off their heads? Personally, I'm glad we have a leader as strong as my brother, to show Saladin we can kill as well as he. Why does it bother you, Robin? They're only Saracens."

"They're men! We do not slaughter unarmed prisoners!"

"Would you rob our armies of food and water, to feed the enemy? Or worse yet, set them free, so they can rejoin their regiments, and slaughter us? You're not in Locksley any more. There's no other way."

"There has to be a way! We are Christians! Our faith is built on showing mercy!"

"You look far too attractive, Robin, when you're passionate like this. I fear I won't be able to sleep at all tonight, remembering how you look."

She received his scornful frown, tossing off her unhappiness with a laugh. "Philip of France and Leopold of Austria, the old flower bulb enthusiast, are both planning to sail home. Did you know that?"

"Home? Why?"

"My brother has angered them. Of course, that's not the official story. Philip claims to be ill, faking the same disease that plagued my brother. But of course, he's not too sick to undertake the journey home. He's furious that Richard married Berengaria, when he'd been betrothed for years to Philip's sister Alys. And Leopold! He's angry because Richard made him take down his standard, which he insisted on flying over Acre, once the city was ours. As if his troops had won Acre, without Richard's help! Secretly, both men swear to take revenge on my brother. So you see, Robin dear, we Christians are not as merciful as you'd like to believe. Nor, unfortunately, as united in Pope Gregory's cause. Don't look so glum! Of course, war isn't what you dreamed it would be, especially not a war of this magnitude! There's more at stake here, you must realize, than the mere freeing of Jerusalem!"

"What do you mean?"

"I probably shouldn't tell you, but I can't resist you anything! Richard longs to conquer the coast, city by city, travelling all the way to Cairo! Can you imagine all the trade goods he can secure for England? Imagine the wealth, should mighty Egypt herself fall to the English! Or should I say, to the Lionheart? That _is_ what the soldiers have begun calling him, isn't it? It suits him! There isn't a braver, mightier warrior, than my big brother!"

Unbelieving what he'd just heard, Robin excused himself, then turned on his heel to demand an audience with his king.

He wasn't done fighting for what he considered right and justice. Richard, the glorious king who inspired him, would surely listen to reason.

**(Note: I included several bits of actual history in the second part of this chapter, namely, Saladin's slaughter of Christian prisoners at Hattin prompting Richard's retaliatory massacre at Acre, and the departures of King Philip of France and Leopold of Austria with the reasons for their anger against Richard. Philip returned to France and waged war to seize Richard's holdings of Anjou, Normandy, Brittany, and Aquitaine, taking advantage of Richard's absence. He was unsuccessful, until John became King of England, and then, Philip's armies managed to win them, which is why they belong to France today, instead of to England. Leopold, of course, got his revenge on Richard when the English king finally journeyed home, capturing and imprisoning him for ransom. Prince John secretly promised to pay Leopold double what he asked for, if he would continue to hold Richard prisoner, but Queen Eleanor managed to secure the immense ransom, delivering it in person. And also, Richard did have intentions of conquering Egypt, but changed his plans when he realized how terrible things had become in England, under John's reign of tyranny, making it necessary for him to hurry home after forging a three-year truce with Saladin.)**


	33. Chapter 33

"Get up, Much," Robin ordered, in a friendly tone.

Relieved that his master finally seemed to shake his dark mood brought on by fulfilling His Majesty's orders of helping to kill thousands of Saracen prisoners, Much turned over his boots, emptying them of spiders, then pulled them on his feet, asking, "Where are we going?"

"The marketplace," Robin answered, forcing himself to appear normal, while his heart bled from the acts of war he'd committed. "I need to buy something for..."

He didn't speak her name, but Much knew he was thinking of Marian. "While you're feeling generous, Master," Much pursued, matching his strides with his friend's, in spite of the heat, "I wouldn't mind you buying me some of those tasty dates! Or maybe some figs! Mmmm! Or better yet, what about those honeyed almonds? They're delicious!"

"Why not all three?" Robin grinned, already feeling better at the sound of Much's familiar banter.

"What are planning to buy for Marian?" Much asked, needing to know everything that concerned his beloved master. "You can't buy her figs, or dates, not to mention, almonds! They wouldn't keep by the time we'll see her again!"

"I was thinking of buying her one of those yellow hats some of the women here wear. Turbans, I think they're called. She'd look pretty in one, I think. Or maybe some exotic scent, if you think she'd like it."

"Buy her the hat, the what did you call it again? The turban! Marian always smells like roses, which is far better than sandalwood, or musk, or jasmine the women around here soak themselves in!"

Robin was impressed, wondering how Much knew the names of the local perfumes. And he agreed with his friend. The delicate scent of roses on Marian's skin and hair was far lovelier than any of the heavier scents the women wore in Acre.

Reaching the marketplace, the two young crusaders took in the noise, smells, sights, and heat accosting their senses. Vendors shouted out their wares in harsh, clicking Arabic. The pleasant aroma of spices mingled with the odor of fish, the sweat of human and camel, and worst of all, fly-infested heaps of donkey dung. Fabrics in brilliant, vivid colors competed with equally vibrant strands of beads, tempting mysteriously veiled women to buy them.

"Shameless!" Much disapproved, spotting Anna Komnenos, flaunting her figure in a thin gown, accompanied by a handful of French and English soldiers panting after her. "Like hunting dogs after a fox!"

"Let's just be glad she lost interest in me!" Robin grinned, relieved that Anna ignored him, ever since he'd left her alone that night in his chambers in Cyprus.

Turning abruptly, Robin accidentally collided into a young woman, spilling the contents of her basket into the sandy street.

"I'm very sorry!" he told the woman, stooping down to help refill her basket.

"It was my fault," the young woman said, trembling slightly.

"You speak English!"

"Yes. My family moved here from London, only recently."

Meeting her eyes, that finally took on enough boldness to look into his, Robin caught his breath.

She wasn't Marian, especially not her eyes, which were smaller, less beautiful, and dark brown, but there was enough similarity toward the face of his love, that he couldn't stop staring.

Under her yellow turban, the same hat he'd just been picturing Marian wearing, flowed rich dark hair, nearly identical in color to Marian's. Her skin was creamy, so much lighter than that of the other local women, and her nose was small, a near copy of his love's. Her mouth wasn't as pretty, and lacked the intriguing small mole just beneath her bottom lip, but her face was the same heart-shape, and her figure, which his eyes quickly scanned, rounded nearly as full in just the right places.

"Robin of Locksley," he told her, still on his knees, introducing himself as if he were in a dream, and she was truly Marian.

"I'm called Rachel. Thank you for helping me. I shouldn't be talking to you."

"I'm Much," Much spoke up, but neither of them paid him any attention.

"Why, if you don't mind me asking?" Robin wondered. "I don't bite."

Remembering the horrors he'd recently committed, Robin's eyes glazed over, feeling himself unworthy, tainted by bloodshed.

"I'm Jewish," she explained. "I'm not supposed to speak with Christians."

"Is that why your family left London?" Rising and holding out his hand, Robin helped her to her feet.

"It wasn't safe, living there any more. My people were attacked, at your king's coronation."

"I was there. I helped put an end to the riots. But your family didn't need to leave! King Richard swore to protect the Jews."

"And how can he do that, here in the Holy Land? Forgive me, I shouldn't argue."

"It's alright! I happen to like arguing! You remind me of...Would you mind telling me where I can buy a turban, like yours? It's very pretty."

To his surprise, the young woman turned away, her face flushing with shame.

"Did I say something wrong?" Robin asked, gently, while Much stood by watching, in the background. "I didn't mean to offend."

"Are you mocking me?" Rachel asked, near tears.

"No! It is pretty, I think."

Realizing he meant no harm, Rachel recovered herself, explaining, "I do not wear this turban by choice, but because it's the law. All Jewesses must wear them, under Saracen rule, to identify ourselves. It was only recently, thanks to you crusaders, that my people were allowed to live again in Acre. Now, there are nearly 200 of us here, but we still must identify ourselves, by our clothing."

"You're not under Saracen rule any more," Robin reminded her, his protective nature touched by the plight of her people. "I'll speak to my king, if you'd like, and he can-"

"No, please!" Frightened, Rachel was alarmed to realize that this attractive young Christian, whom she had met by purposely bumping into him, had the ear of the mighty Lionheart.

"I must go," she realized, worried lest any of her fellow Jews had seen her speaking so long to the soldier. "My father will be worried."

"Your father," Robin breathed, once again reminded of Marian. "When can I see you again?"

Much's eyes grew even wider than usual, at hearing Robin speak in the caressing tone he'd only reserved in the past toward Marian.

"I come here, every Friday, to shop for the Sabbath," Rachel replied, unable to resist the strong attraction she felt toward the kind and handsome crusader.

"Until next week, then," Robin smiled, almost sighing.

**(NOTE: Readers, don't be angry at Robin! Remember, he is especially vulnerable just now, after obeying his king to slaughter the prisoners at the massacre at Acre. Also, the character Rachel appears in two of my other stories, and is mentioned in a third, and if you read them, you'll see he cares for her as a replacement for Marian, his one and only love. I picture Rachel looking just like the actress who co-stars with Jonas in his upcoming WWII movie, Walking with the Enemy, formerly titled The Glass House. If you google it to see pictures, you'll notice the Jewish actress really does look a lot like our lovely Marian, though not nearly so beautiful, in my opinion.**

**Also, the story of the Jews being attacked in London at King Richard's coronation is true, and is mentioned in other stories of mine. And the bit about the yellow turbans, and the number of Jews in Acre during this time, is also accurate. **

**Thanks for reading! Please keep those reviews coming!) **


	34. Chapter 34

Wednesday, market day in Nottingham, made the city's streets come alive with cheerful, bustling vendors, socializing with the townsfolk as they vied to empty their purses, exchanging food and wares for coins.

This Wednesday, however, was ominously quiet. As Marian rode Vesper through the town gates, she saw stalls full of goods but empty of buyers and sellers. It wasn't until she had ridden further in, that Marian discovered the terrible reason why.

A crowd had gathered outside the castle, a quiet crowd that seemed to be in shock. From her place astride Vesper's back, Marian peered over the people's heads, gasping when she saw the Widow Edmondson on her knees at the center of the crowd, cradling the body of her son Mark in her arms.

"What happened?" Marian asked Joe Lacey, jumping to the ground while he held her horse's reins. "Is Mark hurt?"

"He's...he's dead," Joe told her, stricken with grief, yet angry.

"This wouldn't have happened, if Robin were here!" a woman shouted, and others, equally stunned, echoed her words.

Pushing her way through the crowd toward the grieving mother, Marian's mind raced, trying to make sense of the tragedy.

Mark, now lying dead at the center of the crowd, was a grown man of thirty, with a sweet, childlike mind. Born with an unknown condition, he'd remained mute all his life, though able to hear. In a world of his own, he often laughed for no discernible reason other than for the sheer joy of living, flapping his hands over and over, rarely making eye contact with others. People were frightened and suspicious of him, ignoring and shunning him, while priests claimed God had cursed him for some sin of his parents.

All that changed, however, once Robin had befriended him.

Treating Mark with kindness and respect, Robin had somehow broken through the young man's curious "wall," becoming his friend, so that others began to accept, rather than fear him. Bringing Mark and his widowed mother presents of roasted chestnuts, Robin showed remarkable patience, even teaching the unteachable fully grown child how to shoot a bow, with blunt arrows, of course. Worshipping Lord Locksley, Mark was never seen without his bow and quiver, though he was gentle as a lamb, incapable of hurting a soul.

And now, apparently, he was dead, and his mother couldn't be comforted.

"What happened, Joe?" Marian asked, alarmed at seeing a bloody stain on Mark's shirt.

"There's nothing we can do for him now, other than give him a Christian burial," Joe told her bitterly. "Come. Let's get away from here."

Leading her aside, Joe began explaining what had happened. "Mark was sitting in his mother's stall, as he always does on market day, flapping his hands and smiling, enjoying the sun on his face. Then it happened. Lord Vaisey was here, demanding all vendors show him their licenses to trade."

"They don't need a license!" Marian objected. "They've always traded here. And Vaisey is no lord."

"You may be right, but he insists we call him one. His Lordship next demanded to be paid, naming some enormous fee for a license, and when the Widow Edmondson refused, Lord Vaisey grew threatening. He began shouting at the widow, then screaming, until Mark, to everyone's surprise, lifted his bow and nocked an arrow, aiming at His Lordship."

"His arrows are blunt, surely! Robin didn't trust him with points, in case he should shoot, and not understand what he was doing."

"The arrow _was _blunt, but Lord Vaisey didn't care. He screamed for his henchman, that sinister Sir Guy of Gisbourne, who strode from behind him, drawing his sword, then thrusting it through the poor soul's body."

"He killed him?" Marian gasped. "Where is this Gisbourne now?"

"With His Lordship, no doubt. He's always with him, towering over him like a huge, black shadow."

Pulling forth her purse, Marian pressed it into Joe Lacey's hand. "Please," she insisted, "give this to the widow, for Mark's funeral. I must go tell my father what happened. Vaisey and this Gisbourne will be held accountable for their actions."

Running from the bloody scene, Marian couldn't help but hear the woman crying behind her, even as men wiped tears from their eyes. "Robin of Locksley wouldn't have stood for this!" several were crying. "Robin was good, and just!"

"Robin was the best hearted boy in the world," another vowed.

How the people loved him, Marian realized again, too unhappy about the poor slain man-child and his mother to feel how much she missed him herself. What good deeds he always did for them, when he lived in the shire!

"I want to do good, too," Marian whispered, entering the castle and heading toward the Great Hall. "Just because I'm a woman, doesn't mean I can't help. And I can start by finding my father, and seeing he brings those murderers to justice."

But her father wasn't in the Great Hall, and moreover, his family hangings, representing Knighton, had been torn down.

"What is happening?" Marian asked a workman, who was busily engaged hanging new pale blue and black hangings, featuring the image of a bird. "Does my father know you're replacing his hangings?"

"Orders, Your Ladyship," the man replied, curtly.

"Whose orders?" she wondered, leaving the Great Hall to climb the stairs to her father's castle chambers.

Already distraught over Mark's murder, Marian had no idea what, or who, awaited her in her father's rooms.


	35. Chapter 35

Marian's heart pounded as she rushed up the stone castle steps, hoping to find her father in his private chambers.

Confused by seeing two burly castle guards posted outside her father's door, her consternation grew when they blocked the entrance, refusing her admittance.

"Stand aside," Marian ordered. "I need to see my father."

"Your Ladyship won't find him in there," one of the guards told her, his tone far from respectful.

"Stand aside!" she repeated.

It seemed as if she were living a nightmare, with the whole world turned upside down. Her impatience flared, and she stubbornly refused to accept the guard's words.

To her relief, the door was suddenly yanked open from the inside, revealing Vaisey, dressed in a long, flowing, feather-trimmed, black robe, and holding a birdcage.

"Oh!" he crowed, in evil amusement. "A bit early for the housewarming, aren't you, Missy, hmm? I hope you brought me a present!" To the guards, he ordered, "Let her in, you blithering oafs!"

"Where is my father?" Marian demanded, the feeling of living a nightmare growing with each step she took into her father's rooms.

Everything was changed. Birdcages filled one entire section of the main room, near the window. Her father's painting of the Holy Virgin and Blessed Child, hanging over the safe in the wall, had been replaced by a startling portrait of Vaisey, complete with a bird companion and a halo surrounding his bald head. Maps of the shire littered the table, along with an elegant chess set. But worst and most startling of all, a human skull stared back at her from a desk, a more horrifying inkwell than her mind could ever invent in a dream.

"Where is my father?" she asked again, her voice sounding weaker as her knees shook. "What have you done with him?"

"Done? I haven't 'done' anything! Prince John saw fit to remove him from office, replacing him with someone far more capable! In a word, Missy, _Me."_

Disturbing laughter poured from his lips, mocking her, and taking delight in her alarm. "Oh, this good! This is good!" he crowed. "Now's the moment when you offer me congratulations, hmm?"

"You're Sheriff?" Marian gasped, unable to believe his terrible news. "Where's my father?"

Turning his face to a deeply recessed and dimly lit corner, Vaisey called, "Do you hear her, Gisbourne, hmm? Always harping on the same question! Bored now!"

"Is _he_ here?" Marian asked, remembering Joe Lacey's story of how Guy of Gisbourne had murdered the poor innocent in the marketplace.

"Gisbourne? Oh, yes!" Vaisey answered, grinning like a madman. "He's watching you."

A cold chill ran up and down Marian's spine, almost making her shiver. Summoning her courage, she boldly accused, "At your orders, he killed an innocent man today, in the marketplace! You will both pay for your-"

"Innocent?" Vaisey interrupted, exploding in anger. "That so-called Innocent aimed an arrow at me!"

"A blunt arrow," Marian shot back, near tears. "Besides, he never would have loosed it! He's never harmed a soul, his entire life!"

"Well, la dee dah dee dah! Did he work? Did he pay taxes? A clue...no! He was nothing but a burden to the State! But now, he's an _example_, of what happens to those who oppose me!"

Speechless, Marian could only stare in horrible disbelief at the new sheriff. "Where is my father?" she asked again, a feeling of dread stealing over her. "You haven't harmed him?"

"A clue...no. Not yet, anyway. He went meekly, didn't he, Gisbourne, hmm? By this time, he's probably on his way to whatever grand house you call home. Which reminds me, I promised Guy a house, didn't I, Gisbourne, hmm? I suggest, Missy, you and your father watch your steps, lest my dear friend Sir Guy takes a shine to Knighton Hall!"

"Why doesn't he show his face?" Marian asked, hating the creepy feeling of being watched in silence, from the shadows.

"Gisbourne?" the sheriff asked, amused by her uneasiness. "If you insist, Missy. Come out, Gisbourne, and say hello to our little guest! No, don't get any closer! Remember what I told you! Lepers, Gisbourne. Lepers." Facing Marian, he explained, "Guy's had a long, hard day. Which by the way, Missy, since you're so curious to know what he looks like, pretty much describes him as well. Long, and hard. Oh, yes! This is good! This is good!"

His implication was obvious, even to Marian's virginal ears. Disgusted, and needing to be with her father, Marian turned and almost ran from the room.

"So rude!" Vaisey declared, as Sir Guy emerged from the shadows, his handsome, steely-blue eyes locked on the retreating form of the young woman hurrying to get away. "Now, Gisbourne, to more pleasant matters, hmm?" Putting down his birdcage to point to a spot on the map, Vaisey asked, "What do you think of this house, hmm, Gisbourne? Oh, yes, my friend! With Huntington gone to war, someone needs to keep his estate running. What say you to moving to Locksley, hmm? I hear the milk there's wonderful!"


	36. Chapter 36

"Trouble!" Much warned Robin, shadowing his master as the two headed toward Acre's marketplace. "Why do you always, always do this?"

"Do what?"

"Seek out Trouble! As if we didn't already have enough troubling us, here in this fly-infested, spider-dwelling, hotter than You-know-Where sandpit, filled with Saracens who want to KILL us! But oh, no! Not you! One little lull in the fighting, and you have to-"

"Acre's not such a bad place! There's a remarkable sewage system here, Much."

"WHAT?"

"A sewage system...a method to dispose of human waste. Did you know there are tunnels under the city, to wash out sewage and dispose of it far out to sea, cutting down on disease and making everything cleaner? We should learn from the Saracens, Much, and implement some of their inventions, when we go home. In fact, I intend to learn their language while we're here, so I can-"

"Learn their...! Unbelievable! They're our enemy, Robin! They want us DEAD! And you talk about sewage systems, and having conversations with them! What's next? Reading their Bible?"

"How did you guess?"

"Wha- wha- what? Unbelievable!"

"I need to understand what it is we're fighting, Much."

Robin's pleasant, carefree attitude changed with those words, turning to appealing sincerity, tinged with sadness. Seeing the change, Much softened, and began sympathizing with his friend.

"Well, alright," he conceded. "But that still doesn't change you looking for Trouble today!"

Grinning, Robin chuckled, "I don't go looking for trouble, Much. Trouble has a way of finding me."

"Please!"

Reaching the marketplace, Much was distracted by the sights, scents, and sounds, to stop his endless warnings, giving Robin a chance to think. Trouble wouldn't be found in Acre's marketplace, he believed, but later this evening, when he obeyed Queen Berengaria's plea to speak with Johanna about her attentions to Raymond of Toulouse, a newly arrived Crusader. The Queen knew Raymond to be a vicious man, an enemy of her brother Sancho, and no good for Johanna. Robin, knowing Johanna's lingering feelings toward him, had told the queen he needed to stay out her love affairs, but the tears in Berengaria's eyes made him promise to try to help.

But that would come later. For now, after a grueling week of war councils, back-breaking work rebuilding the city, countless hours training foot soldiers under the merciless, blazing sun, and heart-rending hours befriending the wounded in the hospital, Robin longed only to see the young woman who reminded him of Marian.

She wasn't hard to find, under her yellow turban that marked her as a Jew.

"Good morning!" Robin said, appearing at her elbow, startling her so that she jumped. "Sorry! I didn't mean to sneak up on you."

The sight of him, so splendidly handsome in his crusader's belted tunic with its red cross emblazoned on his chest, with those blue eyes of his twinkling with fun, made Rachel's heart pound wildly in her chest and her throat go dry.

He'd kept his word, and returned to the marketplace this Friday! She'd thought of him all week long, after their first initial meeting, and now, here he was, taking her heavy basket from her, smiling down at her, looking and sounding so incredible, she couldn't think what to say to him!

His servant, she noticed, was busy watching a performing monkey, his saucer-like eyes staring at the show, rather than at his master and her.

"So, what else is on your list today?" Robin of Locksley was asking, gazing at her with a kind, yet searching look.

"I finished shopping nearly an hour ago," Rachel confessed, letting it slip that she'd only been waiting for him.

The grin he gave her was adorably sheepish. "I'm often late, I'm afraid," he apologized, looking so handsome she instantly forgave him. "When it's only a matter of minutes, I claim I'm timely. So, was I timely today, or really late?"

"I don't know. I was only shopping for my father's dinner."

The mention of her father somehow made his smile even brighter. "And from the look of what you bought," he said, looking in her basket, "your father will enjoy his meal. Any chance you might set an extra place or two at your table tonight? I wouldn't mind meeting your father."

Robin wasn't sure what had made him just invite himself to dinner, barely knowing this lovely young woman, other than his intense longing to be sitting around the dining table at Knighton Hall, at home in Marian's house, basking in her company.

He half expected Rachel to grab the basket back from him, scolding him for his bold curiosity, and was disappointed when she didn't.

"You must not come to my house," the pretty brunette cautioned him. "It is forbidden!"

"Alright," Robin agreed, wanting to perpetuate the illusion she was Marian, even as it faded. "I promise I won't go anywhere near your father. But there's one thing you've forgotten to buy today. Allow me?"

Before she could answer, he'd gone to his servant, untied the small purse hanging from his belt, and removed two coins. He didn't notice a small Saracen street urchin watching his every move through his large, dark eyes.

Rachel flushed with nervous pleasure when Robin returned, holding a bouquet of lilies. "These are for your table," he told her, charmingly. "And this," he added, pulling out a single lily and tucking it behind her right ear, "is for you."

Again, Rachel found it hard to speak, hard even to find any words to say. A jolt had shot through her when his fingertips touched her hair, and now, she hoped he didn't notice her trembling.

"Thank you," she finally managed to say. "I have something for you, as well."

To his surprise, she held out a piece of green silk, heavily embroidered with gold thread. "You're the Earl of Huntington, aren't you?" she asked, shyly. "This, I believe, is your crest."

"Where did you get this?" Robin asked, pleasantly surprised at her gift.

"I made it."

Rachel couldn't understand his surprised, disbelieving laughter. Good-natured though it was, it made her feel embarrassed, as if she'd done something wrong. "You didn't make this," he said, his good humor fading, as he grew crestfallen before her eyes.

Realizing she spoke truth, he apologized. "I'm sorry, Rachel. I didn't know you embroidered."

"Is there something wrong with embroidery?"

"No! Of course not! I only imagined...It's perfect. Thank you very much."

"I hear your army will march south this week," she told him, recovering. "Is it true? I wanted to make you something, to remember me by."

"Thank you. We do plan to march south, but we'll be back. You're not angry? I have to go. I have to do my duty to my King."

"Why should I be angry?"

"No reason. But I'm glad you're not."

In the sizzle of the sun, with waves of heat rising from the ground beneath them, he found he wanted to kiss her, for her image shimmered before his eyes, turning her in his love-besotted mind to Marian.

But, of course, he didn't. His heart and mind knew she wasn't Marian, and it wouldn't be right to kiss her. All the same, she was a lovely girl in her own right. She couldn't help it if she wasn't The Girl.

Rachel was wishing he would kiss her. Sheltered by her culture and her father, she'd never been kissed before, but she'd never wanted to be kissed, until this moment when the want was overwhelming.

Much's shouting outcry shattered the mood between them. Instantly, Robin was by his side.

"What is it, Much?"

"Our money! It's been stolen! Some dirty little Saracen street rat took advantage of me watching the monkey, and robbed us! There he goes now! Come back here! You can't steal from us, and get away with it!"

In what seemed like a blink of an eye, Robin was after the boy, dodging the throngs of people and vaulting over tables. In an instant, he'd caught the terrified child, while the crowds of onlookers watched.

"Don't be afraid," Robin told the child struggling in his grip. "I mean you no harm. Now, why did you take my friend's money?"

In reply, the child spat in his face.

Wiping his face clean, Robin continued, his voice and manner kind and calm, while his heart seemed to break within his chest. "I'm the enemy, I know. Are you hungry? Did we kill your father? Is that why you stole?"

"What did you catch there, Locksley?" Raymond of Toulouse asked, escorting a haughty Princess Johanna on his arm. "By Saracen law, he must lose a hand."

"No one's losing a hand," Robin shot back, furious at Toulouse's suggestion. "It was my money he stole. Let me handle it."

"What? So that you can reward the brat, by giving the rest of your purse? Thieves need to be stopped. We Christians can learn a thing or two, from Saracen justice."

"Not when it's barbaric, Toulouse."

"Leave him, Raymond," Johanna said, pretending to care about the fierce Crusader, while scorning the one she truly cared for. "Robin will no doubt convert the boy, and have him fighting against his own people by nightfall. Goodbye, Robin."

"Master," Much wondered, rushing toward him while the princess and her escort disappeared into the crowd, "did you get our money back?"

"Look how thin he is, Much," Robin said, lightening his hold on the child, who had ceased struggling. "Give me the purse."

Obediently, Much complied, but was dismayed when Robin emptied it in the thief's small hands. "There!" the archer said, satisfied. "That should feed you and your family for a week, at least. Go, and no more stealing."

"Master! What did you do? He...he...he tried to rob us, and you paid him...EVERYTHING?"

"He was hungry," Robin replied simply, staring at the retreating figure of the boy. "I really need to learn to speak the language! Just a minute, Much. Let me say goodbye to Marian, and then, we'll be off. Monkey perform well?"

"Monkey...what? Oh! Yes! You should have watched him! But, master, did you just say Marian?"

"No! Did I?"

"You did! You said Marian! 'Let me just say goodbye to Marian' you said! I knew it! That Jewess, Robin, is not Marian!"

Robin's face looked so sad, Much grew sorry for his scolding. "I know she's not, Much," Robin admitted. "I only wish she could be."

"It's alright. I'm sure she's very nice anyway. You say goodbye, and we'll...I'll do without the honeyed almonds, dates, and figs you promised me this morning. Trouble! I knew it! You'd think, for one day, you might decide to sleep in, and avoid Trouble!"


	37. Chapter 37

Anxious about the march south and the upcoming battles to follow, Much suffered a nightmare more ghastly than any dream he could imagine.

Jolted awake from his horrific dream of gore and bloodshed, his body drenched in sweat, Much's first thought was for Robin. "You're not dead!" Much cried out, then wept silent tears of thanksgiving that he'd only been dreaming.

"Our punishment," he decided, resolved to take it, though trying to bargain with God to spare his master more nightmares. "Robin's had more than his share, thank You very much! You might at least consider how kind he is, and let him rest in peace for once! I shouldn't have said that! I didn't mean, You know, rest in peace, not _that_ way, but only You should let Robin sleep tonight, without the dreams!" Quickly adding a "Sir," to show respect, Much muttered an "Amen," crossed himself, then grew delighted when he believed his prayer, or plea, had been answered.

Robin slept on his cot, a beatific smile on his face. "Marian," he breathed, the word itself so filled with awe it sounded like a prayer.

"Thank You!" Much told his Maker. "I'll fast, if You'd like. Well, maybe not fast! I've a pain in my stomach...it's hunger, I think you'll find! Is there something else I could do, to show my gratitude? I'll ask Brother William, in the morning. Goodnight. You sleep well, too, if that's what You do."

Rolling over, content that Robin was happily dreaming of Marian, Much fell back asleep.

...

_The air, musical with the twittering of English sparrows, felt fresh and cool and invigorating after the unrelenting Acre heat that sapped a man's strength._

_Euphoric, Robin seemed to be walking on air as he held Marian's hand, strolling with her through the verdant green meadows of home._

_"I shouldn't admit it, Handsome," she teased him, sighing, "but it's good to have you back."_

_"It's good to be back. But why not admit it? You missed me."_

_"Don't be ridiculous. Have you forgotten how angry I was at you, for leaving?"_

_"Have you forgotten, that as a Christian, you're duty-bound to forgive me?"_

_"We're also commanded to love one another, but I don't think..."_

_"What? What is it you 'don't think,' Marian?"_

_"I'm...I'm not sure."_

_"I am. I swear it. I might never have said it, but loving you is one commandment I'll never have trouble obeying."_

_Her lips were warm and sweet, soft and firm, tempting and yet honorable, and Robin grew dizzy kissing her. _

_"I bought you a few trinkets," he teased her, eager to see her pleasure at opening his gifts. "These are from Venice, though I bought them in Sicily, for Twelfth Night."_

_Marian looked delighted as he slipped the rope of green and gold Venetian glass beads around her neck, miraculously restored in his dream from having been flung into the ocean waves._

_"And this I bought in Acre," he continued, handing her a turban. "Now, don't tell me yellow doesn't suit you! After missing you nearly two full years, I think you'd look gorgeous in any color."_

_"Thank you, I think. I'll assume you meant that as a compliment."_

_Tenderly, Robin placed the yellow turban on her head, then shook his head sadly when he saw the effect._

_"No. I'm sorry, Wren, but I don't like it on you. I want you to look like you, not someone else. Besides, it should be a crime, hiding your hair under a hat."_

_With a dazzling smile, Marian lifted off the turban and flung it into the grass. Robin's answering smile mirrored hers. With one graceful sweep of his hand, he scooped up a handful of lilies, handed them to her, and then, trembling, tucked one single blossom behind her ear. "That's better," he breathed, passionately. "Flowers for my bride. I missed you, Marian."_

_"I missed you, too."_

_Their lips met again, this time in a kiss so achingly joyful, Robin felt time stand still, as he poured his heart and soul into the beautiful woman he adored. They broke apart, only to gaze upon each other, then kissed again, and again, and-_

"Master! Master, wake up!" Much's voice shattered Robin's dream, pulling him back to the reality of his cot and tent just outside Acre. "The King's commanding us at the front of his troops, with him, immediately! We march south today!"


	38. Chapter 38

"Go, Father," Marian urged, while Sir Edward hesitated outside Saint Mary's Church in Nottingham. "You've done nothing wrong. We don't need to slink in, as if we're outlaws. Besides, we're not here to be seen, but to worship."

Endowed with the courage and boldness her father lacked, Marian lifted her chin in defiance at the questioning stares of the Lammas Eve worshippers, daring them with a glance to say anything against her beloved father. No one, except for Edward himself and his successor, Vaisey, knew why Prince John had removed him from the office he'd held so honorably for more than fifteen years.

Locating two seats in a pew near the back, Marian quickly slid in, wishing she could hide herself and her father from the curious stares. It didn't matter that many looks were sympathetic; everyone was wondering what Sir Edward had done, causing Prince John to replace him.

The mass droned on, yet Marian found it hard to concentrate. She noticed the seat in the front pew, formerly reserved for her father, now occupied by the despicable little man who had stolen his job. His bald head gleamed in the candlelight like the polished globe of a fortune-teller. But what really drew her attention was the figure sitting beside him, in her own accustomed seat.

The man, even when seated, was tall. His black-haired head was proudly set upon two broad, powerfully built shoulders, with muscles rippling against the tight black leather he wore. Even without seeing his face, Marian sensed something sinister within him, something menacing and dangerous.

She knew he must be the new sheriff's lieutenant, the mysterious Sir Guy of Gisbourne, the man she'd heard had enjoyed twisting his sword blade through poor innocent Mark. "Stop it," she silently scolded herself. She felt as bad as the other supposed worshippers, staring, rather than worshipping God this warm Lammas Eve. Yet she couldn't seem to focus on the service.

Every time she kneeled and rose up, she glanced forward, striving to see Gisbourne's face. What did so brutal a killer look like? As of yet, she could see nothing but the back of that black-haired head, his strong neck and shoulders. She wanted to see his face, stare back at him in challenge, accuse him of what he'd done, and watch him wilt. He had to have a conscience...all men did! Yet how could he sit so calmly in church, after what he'd done?

The new sheriff, bored and filled with Burgundy wine, was snoring in the front pew. With a sudden snort, he woke up, annoyed to find himself still in church.

"Get on with it!" he shrieked at the priest, stunning everyone present. "Blah blah bladdey blah! Enough of the goobly gook! Wave your foul smelling incense over us, say your blessing and your amen, and be done! I have work to do!"

No one had ever spoken to a priest so rudely, so arrogantly against God's representative on Earth. No one breathed, waiting for the priest to reprimand the outrage, or for God to strike the sheriff down. But neither event took place. Instead, the priest froze, quaking in fear, staring not at Vaisey, but at Gisbourne. In the silence, the sheriff leaped energetically to his feet and turned to address the congregation.

"You are dismissed!" he commanded, laughing at everyone's discomfort. "And by the way, I have set my own 'alms box' beside the church's, just inside the doors. I expect you to be generous, dig deep into your purses, and double what you would put in the other, for the forgiveness of your sins." He sneered out his last words, mocking the giving of alms, as if people only gave to buy their way into Heaven. Thriving upon the attention of a captive audience, he scanned his eyes triumphantly over the fearful crowd. "After all, our king needs funds, for his glorious Crusade! We can't let his troops starve now, can we, hmm? Give, give, and feed our young men who are risking so much, for the Kingdom of God!"

His speech was a mockery, and a threat. And to make certain the people knew he meant to threaten them, the sheriff issued a one-word command. "Gisbourne!"

Marian at last caught a glimpse of the man's face, his powerful arms, chest, and slim waist, when he slowly rose and turned to face them. His eyes met hers for an instant, chilling her, and she dropped her eyes, unable to give him the defiant glare she wanted. A shudder passed through her, and she longed to get away from his steely blue stare, as hard and cold as the blade of his sword.

"Come," her father told her, fumbling to untie his purse so he might escape the sheriff's wrath.

"You're not going to put our alms in his box, surely!" Marian protested. "No, Father! Don't give in to his threats! Our money should go to the poor!"

"It will go to the king's troops," Sir Edward floundered, not believing what he said, yet too frightened for his daughter's sake to be strong. "You don't want Robin to starve, do you?"

Hearing his name spoken aloud, Marian felt her strength drain away. She wilted on her father's arm, as her head grew faint and her legs turned to jelly. She despised herself for her weakness, for the illness she couldn't be rid of, but she was helpless against it. "Take me home," she pleaded, wanting to be a little girl again, and crawl onto her father's lap and cry.

Yet even weak, she reached into her own purse, emptying its contents into the church's alm's box, rather than the sheriff's, even while feeling Guy of Gisbourne's eyes watching her.


	39. Chapter 39

"Very funny!" Much complained, rambling on and on about nothing while the crusader army travelled south, with the coast to their right and the scorched, barren sand dunes to their left. "Octopus, you said! Unbelievable! You knew all the time, the specialty on Cyprus was shish ka...shish ka something! Which, by the way, if you remember, was delicious! And you told me it was octopus!"

"Captain," another soldier begged Robin, "could you please shut him up?"

The unforgiving sun beat down on the army, cooking men in the chain mail they wore to protect themselves from a surprise Saracen attack. Men who didn't drink enough water keeled over, or slumped in the saddle, dropping dead from heat. Countless men were lost on the journey, many from heat stroke, but others from snakebite. And Robin, his senses attuned to detect a possible Saracen attack, agreed that this was no time for Much to ramble on about food.

"Much, enough!" he ordered, watching the shimmering horizon for any puff clouds of sand that might indicate the presence of the enemy.

For a moment, Much was silent. Then, his nerves strung to their breaking point, he couldn't hold back the flood of words. "Even octopus would be welcome now, after the hard tack we're expected to eat!" he cried out. "And what about our horses? There aren't any oats to be found, barely even a scrabble of grass! I don't know about you, Master, but I'm losing weight! I hate to think what Marian will think of us, when I bring you home nothing but sinew and bone! That is, if we don't drop dead from the heat first! I hate it! I hate the sun! Where are the clouds? I don't think I've seen a cloud since we set sail from Portsmouth!"

"Shut up!" a chorus of soldiers demanded, footsore and weary from the march.

"Trade," Robin told Much, leaping down from his destrier, and surprising a foot soldier who could barely stand by hoisting him onto his saddle. "We can walk the next few miles, and give others the chance to regain their strength."

"Walk?" Much cried, in disbelief. "Oh, Master, surely not! You're a knight! You're the Captain of the King's Private Guard! You're the Earl of Huntington! And you're choosing to walk?" As a nobleman's squire, Much rode a rouncey, a horse smaller than Robin's finely pedigreed battle destrier, but a far superior method of travel than marching on his own two feet through sand that burned through the soles of his boots. "Walk?" he repeated, praying he misunderstood, but knowing the truth.

Marching now, Robin told him, "You don't have to, Much. But if you give up your horse to another soldier, you'll be-"

Out of nowhere, a storm of arrows rained down upon the crusaders, buzzing like a swarm of angry bees, followed by wave after wave of arrows. "Hold the line!" King Richard was shouting, knowing the Saracens sought to break apart his army into smaller segments, cutting each off from the other.

Every man who carried a shield ducked under it, Much included. Men on horseback were more vulnerable, and Robin, desperate to save his friend, pulled Much to the ground. "I told you to get down!" he shouted, startling Much out of his fear-frozen state.

Arrows continued raining upon the army. Christian soldiers looked like hedgehogs with scores of arrows piercing their armor, yet mostly failing to penetrate it through to their flesh. Horses, including Much's rouncey, stumbled and fell, shot by Saracen archers. There was little the surviving crusaders could do while the Saracens thinned their ranks, than wait for the enemy to close in, and ready themselves for hand-to-hand combat.

Much hated waiting, especially waiting for a battle to begin. But Robin wasn't waiting. Believing if he failed to act, the resulting battle might prove a slaughter, Robin knelt on one knee and addressed his king. "Permission, Your Majesty, to draw away their fire?" he begged, looking strong and determined.

"Permission granted," King Richard agreed, impressed. "Just don't get yourself killed."

"Master," Much gasped, fear gripping his heart, "what are you planning?"

"Remember what I showed you," Robin pleaded, leaping onto his destrier's broad back. "And don't forget the last man!"

"The last...? Master! Robin! No! Robin, you can't ride off, straight into the stream of arrows! Robin! What are you doing?"

"Teaching the Saracens a thing or two about shooting!" Robin threw back, over his shoulder as he urged his stallion forward.

Much's jaw dropped, and the life seemed to drain out of him. "He's...he's smiling!" Much cried, in utter despair and disbelief. "He's grinning! There's something wrong with him!"

"It's called honor, and valor," King Richard told him, speaking directly to Much for the first time. "Watch and see if Locksley doesn't save your life today." When another shower of arrows buzzed down, the king lifted his voice, shouting, "Take cover!"

Crouching under his round shield, Much shuddered and complained, "If he doesn't get himself killed first!"

**(Note: Incredible as it sounds, King Richard really did lose many men on his southward marches from snakebite and sunstroke. And Saracen armies actually attacked in the manner described, with archers first shooting storms of arrows to thin the ranks, creating chaos, before charging. The crusaders were described by eye witnesses as "looking like hedgehogs" from the arrows that pierced their armor, but mostly didn't wound them. And you thought I stole that line from Robin's clever remark to Allan in the series!  
If you are able to locate it, I highly recommend watching the "Richard the Lionheart" episode of the BBC series Heroes and Villains. The same actor who portrayed King Richard in our beloved Robin Hood series plays King Richard in this show as well, and Harry Lloyd even plays a young crusader. The episode is based on actual accounts of the crusade, from Christian and Muslim sources, and is very informative and entertaining. I found it on YouTube, but I think it's been removed.) **


	40. Chapter 40

Captured and beaten mercilessly by Saracen soldiers, Robin lay senseless in an iron cage, his mouth and hair caked with dried blood. Unaware of his state, he wasn't suffering, as memory filled his dreams, causing his Saracen captors to wonder at the smile on his injured, swollen lips.

_The bitter, metallic taste of blood contrasted strangely with the lovely, delicate scent of roses, and the infinitely sweet feel of her fingers lightly stroking his cheek and hair. _

_"Don't move," the loveliest voice in all the world ordered him. "Only you, Robin, could return from London, Champion of the Joust, without a scratch on you, only to trip over a cat! What happened to your usual, effortless grace?"_

_He had no intention of moving. It felt wonderful, lying with his head on her lap, feeling the gentle touch of her fingertips stroking his face and the ends of her hair tickling his neck. All the same, he was surprised to hear what had caused him to fall, hitting his head on a rock and splitting his lip wide open. "A cat!" he cried. "Is it alright?" _

_"Far better than you are."_

_"I never saw that cat!" Gazing up at her face, his expression softened, turning warm and adoring. "Something else distracted me," he confessed, longing to kiss her._

_"Something?"_

_"Someone." Pausing to reach out and lightly caress a lock of her hair between his thumb and fingers, he ardently admitted, "You look...amazing, Marian." _

_"Amazing" didn't half describe the way she looked to him in her simple gown, after having missed her while at King Henry's court this past month. "Divinely beautiful" was on the tip of his tongue, but he stopped himself from saying it, concerned she might laugh. _

_As it was, his "amazing" flattered and pleased her, causing her to smile, even while rolling her eyes and pronouncing it, "Dribble."_

_"Are you better?" she asked him. "Can you sit up?"_

_"I could, but where would be the fun in that? Can you lie down?"_

_Her eyebrows lifted in a challenge, but her smile broadened. "In your dreams. You're in no condition. You've blood in your hair, and on your lip."_

_"Kiss it better?"_

Harsh, angry male voices, their words indistinguishable, made the dazzling image of Marian fade and disappear, waking Robin from his dream based on memory. As reality returned, he managed to catch a few words, as soon as he realized he was listening to Arabic. "Rami Es-Sahem," the Saracens' name for him, meaning "The Mad Archer," especially stood out in his confused mind.

Trying to stand, he discovered he was shackled, locked in irons so tight he couldn't budge. He was caged like an animal, having been captured by the Saracens when he had ridden into their midst, drawing their fire away from his king. His head felt leaden, his lip sore, and his throat so parched it seemed he'd swallowed a desert's worth of sand. Yet he was glad to be alive. As the saying went, where life was, there was hope. And Robin, by nature optimistic, was not about to give up hope.

The image of Marian that visited him in his dreams gave him strength."Thank you," he breathed, loving her from afar. "I'll survive this, and escape, for both of us."

The sound of footsteps drew nearer, the voices louder. Immediately, Robin stiffened, preparing to look his enemy straight in the eye, even while facing another beating, if not a likely decapitation.

"Think, Robin, think," he told himself. "Think, and hang onto hope." With any luck at all, even with his with his limited knowledge of the language, he might live, and learn a fact or two that might help him.


	41. Chapter 41

Beaten, unarmed, and shackled in a small iron cage, Robin stared defiantly back at two Saracen soldiers who had come to gloat at their prisoner, whom they called Rami Es-Shahim, the "Mad Archer" of the Battle of Acre.

The men jeered at him in their clicking, native tongue, no doubt mocking him for his helpless condition. Robin did not flinch, even when one unlocked his cage and the other yanked back his head by grabbing a fistful of hair, exposing his whiskered throat to a finely sharpened scimitar.

"Allah Akbar!"

So, this was Death. In an instant, images of his life flashed through Robin's mind. Through them all, the face and figure of a lovely dark-haired, blue-eyed girl growing to maidenhood shone brightly, bringing Robin both strength and regret. "Forgive me," he breathed what he believed would be his last words, but whether he was addressing Marian or his Lord and Savior, he hardly knew.

Stinging pain and a wet, warm ooze of blood told him his throat had been cut, yet still he lived and breathed. His jeering captors were taunting him, wanting to incite his fear and hear him cry and beg for his life. But Robin refused to give them the satisfaction. If he had to die at the hands of crazed Saracen zealots, he would die true to his breeding, with unspeakable courage and dignity.

With his head yanked so far back and his blood trickling from the shallow wound to his throat, Robin found it difficult to breathe. Even now, while he waited for his enemies to slice deeper into his flesh, he wondered whether his army had won the battle, and if his act had saved his king. And of course, he thought of his best friend.

_Much...are you alright? Did you survive unscathed? Go home to England. Live, and find someone to love. Live the life I can't. And tell Marian I'm sorry. Tell her I loved her; that I've always loved her. Do that for me, my friend. And know that I loved you, too. Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on my soul. Our Father, who art in Heaven..."_

His prayer was interrupted by the entrance of a third man. To his vast relief, Robin found himself released, as his captors hastened out of his cell, stammering apologies to the mysterious newly arrived Saracen.

The two soldiers fled the room, leaving Robin's cage wide open. Chained and shackled, Robin could do little, yet he knew God had given a chance to escape and to live...a chance he must not waste.

"Pardon my fellow Saracens," the new voice spoke, in softly accented English. "War has made them bloodthirsty. Can you speak?"

"You speak English!" Robin exclaimed, studying the older, kindly faced man.

"I do. And French, as well as Latin. But as you are the famous Rami Es-Shahim, I knew which tongue to use. Do not fear...I am not here to hurt you, but to heal your wounds. I am a physician."

Grateful and surprised, Robin had no choice but to let the man examine him. "I need to stitch your lip," the physician said, "but your neck wound will scab over and heal, after I clean it. With any luck, you will not even suffer a scar."

"Why are you doing this? I'm your enemy."

"A very valuable enemy. Sala-hadin himself would not dare to behead the archer who stands so close to Malek Rik, your mighty Lionheart. You will earn my sultan a tidy ransom, Rami Es-Shahim, should your king choose to buy your freedom. But politics do not interest me. I am only here to cure you."

"Thank you," Robin exclaimed, truly grateful for the middle-aged man's healing touch. "But I'm not Rami Es-Shahim. I'm called Robin."

"Robin of Locksley, Earl of Huntington and trusted confidante of Malek Rik. Champion archer, famed for his boldness and courage, and his skill with the sword as well. May Allah protect my son, should he face you in battle."

"Your son fights for Saladin?"

"He plans to."

"Then why heal me? Why help me live, to go back and possibly kill him?"

"It is what I do. I try to heal all who suffer, no matter their beliefs. Besides, Allah would not allow that to happen."

"You aren't like other Saracens, I think."

"There you are wrong, Robin of Locksley. I am not alone. My own daughter heals along beside me, though she could not be here today. She is spending time with her twin, before he marches off to join the army."

Robin was silent, questioning his role in the Crusade he'd once believed in so ardently. "Saladin is to blame," he said at last, hoping to convince the kind physician. "All because of a personal insult, he conquered Jerusalem and its kingdom, persecuting and murdering Christian pilgrims and Jews."

"This is our land, Crusader. You are the invaders, not us. When the battles have been fought, and men on both sides senselessly slaughtered, your people lucky enough to survive will go home. We will remain."

"We invaded for justice, to stop the killing, stop your so-called senseless slaughter of Christian pilgrims and Jews, whose land this truly is. My religion preaches peace. Yours is founded on war, on jihad."

"Indeed? Let me ask you...which one of us is the warrior, and who is the healer?"

Robin felt a wave of respect for the man's calmly worded wisdom. "You surprise me," he admitted. "You've been more than kind, stitching me up. Could you do me one more favor, before you go?"

"I will try, young man. I see in you a generous, noble heart, despite our differences. What is it you ask for?"

"Could you get me a copy of your bible? I'd like to read it. And when I'm free, I could send you a copy of mine, if you'd like. We Christians truly do believe in peace."

"So, we will study each other's beliefs? That is a worthy occupation, far better than soldiering. I will find you a copy now. Goodbye, young Locksley."

"Goodbye...I don't remember your name."

"That is because I did not give it. Just call me 'Friend,' yes?"

"Gladly. Goodbye, my friend, for now. I look forward to speaking with you again, when you bring the book."

But Robin was never to meet the wise, kindly doctor again. A stoney-faced Saracen soldier delivered the copy of the Quran, and Robin knew he had a tremendous challenge ahead of him to learn the Arabic symbols it contained before he could begin to understand it.

He never guessed that later in his life, he would be tied to the doctor through his deep friendship with the man's daughter, nor did he realize it had been Djaq's father who had saved his life that day.


	42. Chapter 42

Flies buzzed noisily over Robin's latest bloody wounds, lashings to his back, given to him in mockery of the scourging his Lord had endured on his way to the Cross.

Weak from loss of blood, Robin had grown used to the hunger gnawing at his stomach. It was nothing compared to his thirst, which blistered his throat and lips. Dizzy and light-headed, Robin dropped in and out of consciousness, holding on to life by sheer force of will.

He wondered whether he had dreamt the physician who had been so kind and had given him hope, with his talk of ransom. He hadn't seen him since the one time he had shamed Robin's captors away, healing him and treating him like a man, instead of an animal. On reflection, he knew the physician was real. His copy of the Turk Bible proved his existence.

His two captors entered the room where he sat chained inside his iron cage. Barely able to lift his chin off his chest, Robin gathered his strength to raise his eyes and glare defiantly at the pair.

They brought a skin containing water, just enough to keep him alive. Perhaps he would be ransomed, after all! Thankful to God, Robin lifted his face to receive the few drops of water they let dribble into his mouth, not caring that it tasted like sand.

The men were not done mocking him, however. Today, they brought a sack, and it didn't contain bread. Unloosening its cord, the men laughingly set it open upon the floor, just beside Robin's cage, quickly stepping back in both fear and glee.

The sack moved, as something pushed its way out, to freedom. A thick, black snake, its tongue flicking in and out, emerged from the sack, then waved across the floor, slithering closer and closer to where Robin sat, defenseless.

A black adder! Robin recognized it, knowing that species of snake from Sherwood Forest, as a creature to be avoided. Highly venomous, a single bite could kill a man within a few hours. The snake, scenting him, moved closer to his cage, while his captors shouted, "Allah Akbar!"

_Don't move a muscle. _Flies lighted on the open wounds on his back, but Robin did not flinch. His only hope was to remain perfectly still, barely daring to breathe.

The serpent nosed his cage, then slowly slithered inside. Still Robin did not move, did not show any sign of fear. His captors jumped up and down, hoping to startle the snake by creating vibrations on the floor, while Robin tried not to tense.

Miraculously, the snake slithered up and over his thigh, then out the other side of his cage.

Disappointed, the Saracens used a staff to corral the snake back in the sack, laughing and waving it over the cage, before leaving the room. Robin heaved a sigh of relief, shaking the flies from his back.

How much longer would they keep him here, taunting him, close to death? He clung to the kind physician's words about ransom, knowing they must be true, or his captors would have beheaded him the moment they'd caught him. Clinging to hope, Robin let his chin fall again on his chest, too weak to do more than rest.

The door to his room opened again, revealing a new man. Barking Arabic, the man strode to Robin's cage, unlocked it, then unlocked the shackles on his wrists and ankles. Yanking him roughly out of the cage, he forced Robin to his feet, then shoved him from the room.

_Was this freedom, or death? _Robin didn't know, but even in his weakened state, he faced it bravely, staggering as the man pushed him forward.

"Roger!" he cried, seeing his friend Roger of Stoke. "LeGrande!"

"You look terrible, Locksley!" LeGrande announced, in his big, booming voice.

"You look wonderful!" Never had Robin been so glad to see his fellow Crusaders as he was this moment.

"Thank God you're alive!" Roger of Stoke told him, wanting to seize him in a bear hug. "The king's paid your ransom. Let's get out of here."

"Wait! I left something behind."

"Wait?" LeGrande asked, in disbelief. "Have you lost your mind?"

"It's a gift, from a friend," Robin insisted, needing that copy of the Turk Bible, if only to remind himself there was good in all men. To his surprise and the surprise of his friends, he managed a few words of halting Arabic, asking the Saracens if he could go back and retrieve his Quran.

His request was granted, though when LeGrande saw the book, he sneered. "I've heard of prisoners being brainwashed, Locksley! We'll get you back to camp, where you can burn that filth. They didn't force you to convert, did they?"

"They couldn't, even if they'd tried. Come on, let's go home."

The army camp was not home, but it seemed to be, after surviving in a cage the past week or so. It especially seemed like home when Much, eyes brimming with tears, fussed over Robin's wounds, insisting he be fed.


	43. Chapter 43

Autumn came early to England, with September days made chilly by dense fog or steady rain. The damp, gloomy weather matched Marian's mood, for she couldn't seem to shake off the heaviness in her heart, nor her unbearable loneliness and lack of purpose.

Standing just behind her father's chair in the Council of Nobles, Marian felt indignant anger well up within her, as the new sheriff boasted of his plans to increase taxes tenfold.

"We will not approve it," Lord Dunham insisted. "You are out of line, my Lord Sheriff."

Marian felt proud of her father's friend for speaking up, wishing it had been her father. Within a nightmarish matter of minutes, however, she was more than thankful her father had remained silent.

Vaisey's eyes widened and his face turned purple, outraged that anyone would dare oppose him. And while Marian could not see Guy of Gisbourne's face as he stood behind the sheriff's chair, lurking in the shadows, she heard him draw in his breath.

"Well, la dee dah dee dah!" the sheriff snorted, mockingly. "Who are you, Dunham, hmm, to approve or disapprove what I have already DECIDED?"

"There is no need to shout, my Lord Sheriff. We have always conducted our Council meetings in the shire with civility and respect. You ask who I am. I am a noble, and a member of this Council. Put your tax increase to a vote, if you must. But you cannot shove it down our throats, without our say! It will cripple the people!"

"Do I care? A clue...no! You forget, Dunham, who _I _am! I am the Sheriff of Nottingham! My word is law! And the sooner all of you remember that, and stop opposing me, the better things will be, here in _my_ shire! Now, you will approve my tax increase, hmm?, or you will pay the price!"

"May I suggest again, my Lord Sheriff, that we put it to a vote?"

"Another clue...no! Votes must be earned! When I've determined you are all sufficiently respectful, I will grant you the privilege of voting. Until then, you will nod your heads...Show them, Gisbourne, hmm, how it's done? And you will agree with whatever I say!"

Marian could not stop herself from speaking. "My Lord Sheriff," she boldly interjected, even while father's eyes pleaded with her to be still. "Why call the Council at all? If, as you say, we are expected to simply nod our heads and agree with you, why-"

"SHUT UP! Will somebody get me a box, and put this woman in it?" Turning upon Dunham, the sheriff unleashed his fury. "This is your fault! This is what comes from insubordination! AND I WILL NOT TOLERATE IT! Oooh, I know who you really are! You can't hide yourself from me, Dunham! Do you know what I keep in my chambers, hmm?"

By this time, the sheriff had moved from behind the massive table, pushing his face up against Lord Dunham's.

"The rumor is your lordship keeps birds, in cages."

"Yes! I find them poetry, really...caged, and unable to fly free. Do you know I have a sister, Dunham, hmm? And can you guess what animal she keeps?"

"I have no clue, my Lord Sheriff."

"No? That is because you're an idiot! Let me enlighten you. Snakes... My sister keeps snakes."

His cold, sinister attitude made Dunham tense. "Really, my lord," he pursued, "I cannot see what that has to do with the egregious taxes you're proposing."

"Shall I tell you, then, hmm? Because of my sister's choice of babies, I've become fluent in recognizing a snake when I see one! And that is what I perceive you to be, Dunham...a snake, slithering your way to plot against me behind my back, and try to replace me with the incompetent oaf Prince John saw fit to remove from office! I have found you out, and now, you will be made to look like the snake you are! Guards! Hold this man down! Gisbourne!"

Sir Guy stepped forward, out of the shadows, and Marian heard the hiss of his sword, as he swiftly drew it from its sheath.

"Father, what are they...?"

"Shh!"

"Cut off his hands, Gisbourne! Let's make him crawl on his belly, the way snakes slither."

In relief, Marian heard the low rumble of Gisbourne's voice object. "I will not, my Lord."

Grasping a glimmer of hope, Marian felt she had perhaps misjudged the tall, dark, sinister man. There was courage, and decency in him, after all.

"Getting soft, Gisbourne, hmm? You dare to refuse me?"

"I am a knight, not an executioner. I will stab him, but I will not chop off his hands."

"Oooh, so it's pride in your position, hmm, Gisbourne, and not any scruples on your part. Very good! For a moment there, I was thinking I'd have to line up a punishment for you, as well! Guards! Which one of you blithering oafs would like the honor of cutting off his hands?"

"Stop!" Marian cried. "You cannot do this! It is barbaric!"

"SHUT UP, Missy, or your tongue will be next! What? Will nobody volunteer to do a simple little chopping? Alright! I'll do it myself!"

Before anyone could move, the sheriff drew a dagger from his belt, and brought its blade down upon Lord Dunham's wrist. Blood spurted up, splashing the sheriff and splattering his face.

To the accompaniment of Lord Dunham's screams, the sheriff continued hacking away, chanting, "Choppity choppity, choppity chop!" until the guards pulled Lord Dunham back, leaving his twitching hand on the table, like some huge, bloody spider.

"Oh, this is good!" the sheriff crowed. "And now for the left hand!"

"Marian!" Sir Edward warned her, holding tight to her as she tried to break away.

"We must stop him, Father! Lord Dunham is your friend! We cannot allow this to happen!"

"We must! You heard him, Marian! Do you want it to be your tongue next?"

Dunham's screams of agony cut through the Great Hall, accompanied by the sheriff's gleeful laughter, and the sound of Martin of Aylesbury retching.

"And now," the sheriff cried, growing more and more excited, "his feet!"

Marian could stand it no longer. She felt worthless, unable to stop the maiming...the killing, for certainly this would kill Lord Dunham. Even as she thought it, the sheriff was telling Gisbourne, "Have the snake thrown in my dungeon, Gisbourne, hmm, till he bleeds out. Your skull, Dunham, will make a fine candle holder! So, you see, you won't have to worry any more about my proposed increase in taxes. Oh, yes! Since I'm feeling especially benevolent, I think I will agree to your suggestion, and put it to a vote. All in favor?"


	44. Chapter 44

Much was growing used to marching south. The monotony of the journey, with the sea always to his right, the sun overhead, the sand to his left, the King just ahead and the army behind, comforted him. He was especially relieved that Robin, who rode alongside him, was better, and that the Saracens weren't attacking.

"It's not _as_ hot, Master," Much mentioned, trying to find the good in things, as his mother had always suggested. "Or do you think we've just grown used to it?"

"Shh!" Robin ordered, reining his horse and lifting a warning hand, commanding quiet.

"What is it, Robin?" King Richard asked, trusting his captain's finely tuned senses and instincts.

Much grew alarmed at the low tone in his master's voice. "We're not alone," Robin warned.

"We keep going," the king commanded. "And this time, Locksley, you will not leave my side."

Knowing they were being watched, waiting for an attack, was almost too much for Much to stand. Even the king was heard to mutter under his breath, "Come on!"

As if in answer, a storm of arrows rained down upon them. Judging from the assault, the king could tell his army was vastly outnumbered.

"Permission to-" Robin began.

"No!" the king commanded. "Not again!" Raising his voice to reach his entire army, the king shouted, "Hold the line!"

It was imperative they kept the column. The Saracens meant to divide his army, swoop in and conquer.

"There are too many!" Hugh of Burgundy, who commanded the army's French troops since King Philip had gone home, shouted to the King of the English. "We'll be slaughtered!"

"Not if I have any say!" King Richard shouted back. Angry now, and refusing to cower, King Richard made a decision. "Let's give Saladin the battle he wants! Christians, none of you are here by chance! We are here to fight for the glory of God! It is no sin to kill a Saracen, so kill them all! Ut prosim! CHARGE!"

To Much, the Battle of Arsuf felt like an eternity, but it was over in a matter of minutes. Falling off his horse, Much's mind froze, as he desperately fought in the hand-to-hand butchery. All around him, men were screaming, falling, yet Much tried not to think. The sand grew slippery with blood, and still Much fought on. Every Saracen he killed, was one fewer who might harm his master.

And then, as suddenly as it had begun, the battle ended.

"They're retreating!" Hugh of Burgundy shouted. "We've won!"

Much did not join in the shouts of jubilation. Stunned by the horror around him, Much sought out Robin, stepping over bodies and body parts, and suffering men who were gasping their final breaths.

He found his master on his knees, and quickly dropped to his own beside him, uttering a prayer of thanks that they had both survived.

Robin's eyes looked the same way Much felt, cold and sorry and empty of joy. "Come on," Robin said in a stunned voice, rising to his feet and surveying the carnage around them. "Let's see what we can do to help."

...

Unknown to the Christians, the Battle of Arsuf changed the war. Saladin's advisors swore the Lionheart could not be beaten, and so, no more attacks were launched against the Christians. Instead, Saladin sought to beat him another way, in a way unthinkable to King Richard.

"Master, how much further?" Much wondered, stating the thoughts of nearly every soldier present, as the army continued its march.

"Not long now. We'll camp at Jaffa, stock up on supplies, then march east, to Jerusalem."

" 'Camp,' he says! You mean 'fight,' more likely!"

Robin didn't answer, believing as Much did, that Saladin wouldn't let King Richard's troops take the port city of Jaffa without a fight.

But when they drew close to the city walls, the army fell speechless.

The city was not only deserted, but destroyed. "I don't understand," Much muttered. "Who could have done this?"

Everything that could have burned, lay in smouldering ashes. Stone walls that had stood for centuries, lay in rubble. Not a crumb of food was to be found. "Don't drink from the wells," King Richard commanded. "They're sure to be poisoned."

So, this was Saladin's new method of warfare. He thought nothing of destroying his own cities, if it spelled deprivation to the Crusaders.

It meant little in Jaffa. Ships delivered food and water to the port, and Richard's troops were able to stock up on supplies. But what would befall them when they marched inland, toward Jerusalem?

"Mmm, good fish," Much said that evening to Robin, hoping his master was enjoying his dinner as much as he was. "You're not eating!"

"How long, Much?" Robin asked his loyal servant, opening up for once.

Much was pleased for the opportunity to talk. "How long...what? What do you mean, Robin? I don't understand."

"How long do you suppose she'll wait? It's been two years, Much. We were supposed to be married, this week."

"Marian! I knew it! What do you mean...wait?"

Robin breathed out a slow, heavy sigh. "Wait...for me. She must be surrounded by suitors! What if one of them...?"

"What? One of them what?"

"What if one of them touches her heart...makes her forget about me? She was awfully young, when I left."

Much wasn't sure what to say, but he struggled to find the right words. "Well! We...we...you mustn't worry about Marian! She's...she'll never find a man like you! Who else can make her roll her eyes, and smile at the same time?"

Robin's grin lit up his face. "There is something to what you say, Much. It's just...I don't know how much longer we'll be here."

Suddenly, the fish Much had been enjoying didn't taste so good any more. Robin had to know how fiercely Much longed for home, for the servant couldn't stop himself from mentioning it at every turn. "Master," he asked now, dread settling like a cold lump of iron in his stomach, "aren't we...aren't we close to Jerusalem now? I mean...Jerusalem, Robin! That's why we came! Once we suffer through the horror of one more battle, we'll be done! We can go home! Just think how celebrated we'll be, when we return! You've won medals...honors from the king! Even Marian will be impressed!"

"I hope so," Robin said, unconvinced, and as disturbed as the king by the prospect of their inland march, with poisoned wells and no food or shelter. "On to Jerusalem, it is, then! The Holy City!"

His undying optimism returned, filling him with hope and excitement.

Much was right. Under King Richard, they would accomplish what they'd come for, and free the Holy City so that Christians and Jews could walk its streets in safety once again.

"It's their Holy City, too, you know, Much," Robin mentioned, barely realizing he was speaking his thoughts aloud.

Much's mouth was full of fish. "What?" was all he managed to choke.

"Wouldn't we _really_ accomplish something, if Christians, Jews, and Muslims could all live and worship there, peacefully?"

Much smiled. "Like the sheriff says, Master, you're a dreamer! But I like it that you dream. Now, eat some fish. It's delicious!"


	45. Chapter 45

"Your Majesty, may I have a word with you, in private?"

Robin couldn't dismiss the gnawing fear that the king he revered might have misled him when he'd presented his reasons for leading this, the Third Crusade, convincing Robin and hundreds like him to put their lives on hold and follow him thousands of miles away from home and the people they loved, into battle.

Robin was sick of war, sick of killing and being elbow-deep in gore and bloodshed, turning men...fathers, brothers, husbands, sons...into pieces of meat left to rot in the sun. It felt wrong, and the only thing that could help make it right again was to accomplish what they'd come for, and free Jerusalem.

But now that they were so close, King Richard refused to lead his troops inland, speaking in the Council of War about continuing the march south along the coast toward Egypt, conquering all the coastal ports, city by city. Robin couldn't forget Johanna's comment about her brother wanting to conquer mighty Egypt itself, and claim its riches for England.

"With respect, Your Majesty," Robin began, passionately, "why are we not marching east? The reason I took the cross, the reason all crusaders did, was to free Jerusalem!"

"All? I only wish most of my soldiers' motives were as noble as your own. But that's beside the point. Since I love and trust you, Robin, I will tell you the truth. You, of all the men who serve me, deserve to know."

"You honor me, Your Majesty."

The king lifted his golden leonine head and peered off into the distance, as if seeing the Holy City of Jerusalem rise before him out of the endless dunes of sand. "We cannot take Jerusalem yet, Robin, as much I want to. It would be suicide to attempt it."

"But, Your Majesty, we've beaten Saladin's forces again and again, even when vastly outnumbered! We took Acre in a matter of weeks, when Guy de Lusignan had been fighting for it for two years! Remember Arsuf! We cannot turn back now, Your Majesty, or worse yet, forge a different course, when victory is so close!"

"No, Robin. I will not lead men to certain slaughter. Can you even hazard a guess as to the number of troops Saladin's placed to defend the Holy City? And what of our journey there? Winter is coming, which means unending, relentless rain. You saw what Saladin did to Jaffa. Do you not think he'll hesitate to do the same, to every village along our route? We'll find nothing to sustain us, not a crust of bread. What will we eat? We'll starve before we even reach Jerusalem's gates."

"We can hunt, Your Majesty."

"And how will we cook what you catch? Do you think Saladin will not burn down every tree along our way?"

Robin had no answer, but he was having a difficult time giving up the reason he'd come.

"What of the men who've already lost their lives, or their limbs?" he argued. "Are we just going give up now, when so many have sacrificed so much?"

"We are not giving up, Robin. I still mean to take Jerusalem. But not now. First, I mean to beat Saladin at his own game. By taking the port cities, we cut off his supplies from the sea. And by marching south toward Egypt, we cut off his supplies from the caravan routes. Once his people taste deprivation, perhaps he'll be ready to negotiate."

Robin smiled. The king was right! He hadn't deceived them, by travelling to the Holy Land to conquer Egypt for wealth's sake! He had a plan to win Jerusalem, without bloodshed!

Robin dropped to one knee. "Your Majesty, forgive me for doubting you."

"Rise, Robin of Locksley. I am grateful whenever you do, for you're my conscience, Robin. Now, I like what you said about hunting! It's been a long time since we enjoyed a hunting party. What do you say we go off on one and forget war for a few hours? Just you, me, Leicester, Roger of Stoke, and Luke of Rochester? Oh, and you may bring your manservant. He'd probably follow you, anyway."

"That, Your Majesty, sounds like a plan. I'll tell the others."

Little did they know that their small hunting party would turn deadly.

...

**(Note: More history in this chapter, including the upcoming hunting party of the king. Hopefully, my loyal readers are enjoying this insight into the Third Crusade, and learning what must have befallen Robin and Much before the series began.)**


	46. Chapter 46

Leaning back in her bath, Marian felt her body relax as the warm, rose-scented water surrounded her.

Heaven knew she needed to relax and clear her head, after being helpless to stop Sheriff Vaisey's latest crimes against the good people of the shire.

She was learning she couldn't even raise her voice in protest, lest Vaisey punish her and her father. But there had to be something she could do, without endangering her father!

Her eyes snapped open in surprise, for without meaning to, her mind's eye had conjured up the image of a devilishly handsome youth smiling passionately at her, holding his bow.

"Leave me alone," she hissed, through clenched teeth.

She needed to think of a way to help the growing number of poor, not dwell on the delightful image of the youth who had deserted them. Deserted her.

Yet the image proved irresistible. She'd almost forgotten the sound of his voice, remembering only that it held power to move her in strange and wonderful ways, especially when it spoke softly...intimately...in words meant only for her. But she couldn't forget his face, nor the way he looked when he moved...quick, effortless, and graceful as a cat. With a longing so fierce it hurt, Marian closed her eyes and let her mind think on his image.

Picturing him was bittersweet...sweet because she could see him so clearly, loving his handsome face and form, vividly remembering how expressive his face could be. She allowed her mind to feast on his image, until her longing for him and the reality of his absence overshadowed the sweetness. Her heart began to ache, and burning tears welled up beneath her closed eyelids until they trickled down her cheeks.

Hurt and despair gave way to anger, an emotion easier to bear, replacing her feelings of powerlessness with strength.

She wouldn't think of him any more. She would banish his image from her mind and forget him, once and for all.

The poor of the shire needed her, and somehow, she would find a way to help them.

...

"Ahh! I hate spiders!"

Lying awake between two blankets on the sand, Robin was used to Much's complaints of desert tarantulas, not even bothered by his friend's constant slapping the ground with his boot. But the other members of the king's hunting party were tired of telling Locksley's servant to "Shut up and go to sleep."

The stars overhead looked like diamonds in the velvet-black sky, and Robin let his mind dwell on the angelically beautiful girl he'd left behind.

_I couldn't do it, Marian, _he thought, longing to be able to truly unburden himself to her. _I couldn't enjoy the hunt, or even..._

He couldn't bring himself to finish his thought. The truth was, he alone, of the five men who had gone hunting deer with the king, had brought down nothing. Leicester had teased him good-naturedly, drawing Much's indignation.

"My master is the...the best hunter you could hope to find!" Much had scolded, quickly adding a, "My lord."

"No one disputes his ability to shoot," Leicester had laughed. "Which is what makes it so funny, that he's the only one among us who couldn't hit a deer!"

But Robin, lying on his back a few hours later, did not find it funny.

_It isn't pride, Wren, _he told his beautiful beloved, who cared for and understood him better than anyone in the world. _You and I both know I can shoot. I just couldn't do it today._

He hadn't been able to fire a single arrow. _It was like the first time I hunted, when I was a lad, _he continued telling Marian, in his mind. _I didn't want to kill then, until my father took me on his lap and explained the need to control the deer population, and the food the hunt would provide. And after that, seeing my people eat, I liked the sport of it. I liked the challenge. But today...!_

How could he tell her the pain he'd experienced...the mental anguish he'd suffered? Every time he lifted his bow, he saw the men he'd killed...he heard their screams.

_Will it be like this always? Will I never be able to forget, and put this past me? Help me, Marian! Please, help me!_

Even as he pled the words in his mind, he doubted he'd ever be able to ask for her help, in person. He didn't want her to see him hurt. He needed to be strong for her, as strong as Much, who didn't know his own strength or courage.

"Another one!" Much shouted, swatting another tarantula with the boot he held in his hand.

"Locksley," Luke of Rochester complained, impatiently. "Could you please make your servant shut up? It was bad enough when he wanted to sing those hunting songs earlier, not now...! I , for one, would like some sleep."

Rather than answer, Robin leaped to his feet and reached for his sword. "Your Majesty!" he shouted, warning the king.

Before the others had a chance to react, they found themselves under attack by a Saracen raiding party. Robin's sole thought was to protect his king, and though his soul screamed in protest, he fought with deadly force, slaying the Muslims who charged him.

The fight in the dark was soon over, and Richard's men felt angry yet triumphant as the surviving raiders fled the scene.

Three men lay dead near Robin's feet, all victims of his sword.

"Let the desert bury them," the king decided, bitterly. "We move camp now."

"Where's Luke?" Roger of Stoke asked, the knot of fear in his belly evident in his voice.

After a quick search, it was clear the Saracens had taken Luke. It was impossible to go after them in the dark, as greatly as they wanted to. No one slept the remainder of the night, and at dawn, the king let Robin, who could track even over shifting desert sands, lead them.

None of them, battle-seasoned soldiers who they were, were prepared for what they found.

Hanging from a tree, Luke's bloody, headless carcass swayed in the breeze, strung up by a rope tied around his chest. His head lay in the sand underneath, his eyes already eaten by birds.

"Cut him down," the king commanded, angry yet numb. "We must give him a Christian burial."

Privately, the king blamed himself. Somehow, he had to make this right, impossible as it seemed. Perhaps God was urging him to march to Jerusalem, after all. After they buried Luke, he would seek out the holy counsel of Brother William, and ask for God's advice.

...

**(Note: Contemporary Christian and Muslim writers agree about the Saracen raid on King Richard's small hunting party, resulting in the capture and gruesome death of a young crusader. This was instrumental in the king's march to Jerusalem. Also, to me it sets up Gisbourne's raid on the king in Acre, which occurred in the series.)**


	47. Chapter 47

"Sarah, what is it? What's wrong?"

Entering Knighton Hall's kitchen to find an apple for Vesper, Marian was alarmed to see the cook, who was always so jolly, wiping tears from her eyes.

"It's nothing, Your Ladyship," Sarah answered, dabbing her eyes with the hem of her apron. "Just onions I've been chopping. Your Ladyship's dinner will soon be ready."

"It isn't onions, Sarah. What's wrong? Tell me."

Lady Marian's tone, filled with kindly concern, was also firm and determined. Sarah knew her mistress wouldn't back down until she'd learned the truth.

"It's Jess," she sobbed, relieved not to hold back her worry any longer. "She's sick! She's burning with fever, and I can't afford the medicine, with the taxes the sheriff's charging! I can't bear to see her suffer, and do nothing to help! Forgive me, Your Ladyship. She's just so small, and all I've got."

"Excuse me," Marian said, leaving Sarah to regret having spoken her personal burdens aloud to a lady so far above her station. Sniffling, she continued her final preparations for dinner, then was surprised when Lady Marian returned.

"Here," Marian offered, holding out a vial of a dark, thick syrup and a purse of money. "Don't worry about dinner. Take my medicine, for Jess. It will ease her pain, and bring down her fever. And this should cover any physician's fees."

"Your Ladyship, I don't know what to say! I can't believe you, in your position, taking an interest in my problems! Your Ladyship is too kind!"

"Go. Take care of your daughter."

Marian didn't show it, but she was affected by Sarah's awe of her simple act in wanting to help. She felt she'd done nothing more than what anyone else would do, yet apparently, judging from Sarah's reaction, she had. Such a little gesture, yielding so much gratitude!

She truly did share Sarah's worry over Jess's health, despite their differing stations. And then, she could almost hear the beloved voice she thought she had forgotten, saying the words he truly believed.

_"All men are equal. Rank...birth counts for nothing. Character is what counts." _

_"But surely," _she had argued, _"you can't discount a person's family!"_

_"Family can shape, but not make a man. Every person, be they man or woman-"_

_"Thank you for that!"_

_"-is responsible for his, or her, own beliefs and actions."_

_"I'm glad you finally acknowledge my sex."_

_"It's impossible not to, looking the way you do."_

_"And what is that supposed to mean?"_

_"It's supposed to be a compliment. I only meant...you look lovely, Marian."_

"Oh, Robin," Marian sighed, her mind returning to her present loneliness as she entered her dressing chamber, "why did you have to go?"

No! She was done mooning over his absence. She'd wasted far too much time suffering, growing weak in mind, body, and spirit. From now on, she wouldn't think of him, or the heartache his leaving had caused.

Instead, she'd focus on people in need, like Sarah and Jess. There was so much growing need in the shire, and she, because of what Robin had termed an "accident of birth," had the time and money to lessen it. And the courage.

But she wasn't a fool. She knew her work must be done in secret. Other than the sheriff's few approved charities, which privately only enriched him, any sign of help would be deemed a crime.

Glancing at her reflection in the beaten sheet of metal that served as her mirror, Marian suddenly recalled a description someone had made to her, of the way Saracen women covered their faces. Lifting a scarf, she wound it loosely around the bottom half of her face, and studied the result. It wasn't enough to conceal her identity, but it was a start.

She could go to war, too. She could go to war against poverty.

She had a purpose now, a reason to live, and with her resolve, her illness finally left her.

...

"Goodbye, Robin. I'll deliver your letter to Lady Marian. Are you sure there isn't something you want me to tell her, when I arrive in Nottingham?"

Much's round blue eyes stared longingly at the ship in Acre's harbor that was to carry Roger of Stoke back home to England. If only he and Robin could also sail on that boat!

"Nothing," Robin answered, his mind overcome at the thought that his friend Roger would soon be standing in Her presence. How would he find her...married to that fool Aylesbury, as he'd heard, or miraculously still single? "Give your family my best, and return to us soon."

"Ut prosim," Roger agreed, with a smile of friendship and determination. "And God save the King."

The two friends shook hands and embraced, and then Roger was gone, climbing into a small craft that would take him to the ship that was to carry him home.

"Let's get out of here," Much said bitterly, hating the docks with their horrible profusion of taverns and brothels, not to mention the gulls that swooped down on a man's head, trying to steal a bit of food a man had bought with his hard-earned soldier's pay in Acre's marketplace!

And hard-earned it was!

After the king's disastrous hunting party outside Jaffa, where Luke of Rochester had been captured and slaughtered by a Saracen raiding party, King Richard had let the Council of War vote on whether to march on Jerusalem, or cut off Saladin's supplies, wait, and try to negotiate peace. Everyone, with the exception of King Richard and Robin, had voted to march. And so, the march began.

Marching along the coast under the white, blazing sun had been hell on earth, but marching inland, through the unending, pouring winter rains, with every town, every village, every settlement between Jaffa and Jerusalem completely destroyed, had been even worse. Food rations were soon eaten, and strong knights and soldiers grew weak and thin, when there wasn't even a tree that hadn't been burned to cook whatever meager food men could hunt. Swords and armor grew rusty, and there was no shelter anywhere from the rain. Much found himself in no mood to sing, when there was no place even to lay his head. Like the rest of the army, he learned to sleep fitfully on his feet, even as they marched east.

Saladin's army did not attack, but that didn't mean the Christians were safe from raiding parties. One especially horrible trick Saracen raiding parties used was to trebuchet mounds of poisonous snakes and scorpions upon their heads, while the crusading army was on the march. Many soldiers died a slow, agonizing, suffocating death from snakebite.

And then, after weeks of hell, when they were finally within sight of the Holy City, Richard ordered his troops to turn back, and return to Acre. His decision brought mutiny, with Hugh of Burgundy swearing Richard only wanted to prolong the war, and vowing the French troops under his command would never again fight alongside the English. But back to Acre they marched, leaving a contingent of soldiers and masons behind to rebuild Jaffa, now under English control.

"We were so close!" Much complained to Robin, once they were back in Acre, with full bellies and semi-dry cots again. "We could have taken Jerusalem, and gone home! And now, only Roger of Stoke gets to sail back to England! Why not us, Master? Why not us?"

"Roger doesn't want to go. He has family trouble, at home. As soon as he settles matters on his estate, he'll come back. And we _will_ free Jerusalem, Much. Just not today."

"Hmph! So you say!"

"The King knows what he's doing, Much. Trust him."

Much trusted Robin, but he didn't have to like remaining so far from home, with likely Death confronting them on an almost daily basis.

Saracen raiding parties continued to plague the King's army, and dangerous scouting missions always included Robin of Locksley, and therefore, Much. And then, there was the battle of Jaffa.

With only a small contingent of Christian knights stationed in the once prosperous port city, Saladin wanted it back, and attacked. He did not count on Richard the Lionheart finding out, and sailing his fleet to the rescue. The French refused to help, and stayed behind in Acre.

With his brothers-in-arms under siege, Robin fought like one possessed, earning another medal from the king once the battle was won. After the initial fierce and bloody charge into the city, Richard and his army faced the entire Muslim army, led by Saladin himself. It was the only time the two legendary leaders met, on or off the battlefield. The Christians were outnumbered six to one, yet such was Richard's reputation, and that of his "Mad Archer," Saladin's troops trembled.

"We cannot win," Lord Sheridan warned his king. "There are too many of them. We'll be slaughtered."

Richard's face flushed red with anger. "Who's with me?" he cried, and only Robin of Locksley, with Much trembling behind, rode boldly to face the lines of thousands.

On horseback, Robin raised his bow and nocked a fistful of arrows, as if five could take out the entire waiting army. King Richard rode his horse back and forth before the Saracen troops, shouting, "Here I am! Come and get me! You want to go to Heaven? My archer and I will send you there!"

To Saladin's frustration, his troops turned and ran away. "Stop!" the sultan shouted in Arabic, which Robin later translated to his king. "They are nothing but men! Come back, cowards!"

Richard's army raised a mighty cheer, as Saladin was forced to flee as well, following his army across the desert. Jaffa remained under Christian control.

And here they remained, in Acre, facing another spring and summer, bringing stifling heat, disease, and further bloodshed.

The King was trying to father an heir, though Queen Berengaria was disappointed and confused at his failure to complete his quest to march on Jerusalem, believing God would have awarded him victory. Their relationship, though respectful, grew strained and cold, and Anna of Komnenos flitted temptingly around the English King, waiting to seduce him.

Princess Johanna stepped up her relationship with the treacherous Raymond of Toulouse, hoping to make Robin jealous. But the handsome young archer from Locksley didn't intervene, or seem to care, letting her make her own choices.

With Much shadowing him, Robin resumed his Friday visits to the marketplace, where his forbidden friendship with Rachel blossomed into a romance, though not a serious one on his part. He felt guilty, knowing their kisses meant nothing to him, while she seemed to truly care. He liked Rachel, not only because she looked a lot like Marian, but because she was a kind and noble-hearted young woman. But he grew bored in her placid company, and felt it was his fault that he couldn't like her more.

"What's in that letter you sent Marian?" Much asked, as he and Robin left the docks.

A scrawny whore beckoned them, attracted by Robin's handsome face and form. Ignoring her, they stepped past her hungry, lewd gaze.

Robin didn't answer, regretting the letter that contained nothing but boasts of his fighting skills. What would Marian think, when she read it? Would she grow angry, or confused, or would she even care? Since half of him believed she was married, he hadn't given himself permission to send the letter he really wanted to, the one that contained his heart.

"Come on, Much," Robin said, throwing an arm around his best friend's shoulders. "Let's go..." He couldn't say "home," not when home lay thousands of miles distant. "Let's go back to camp," he amended, smiling affectionately at his friend, whose loyal, true heart amazed and comforted him.

~FIN~

**(Note: This story leads directly into my tale called You Must Have Had Suitors, which I wrote a long time ago. I haven't reread it, so there might be possible discrepancies between the two, but I think I remembered it pretty well. I wanted to write more interactions between Marian and Giz in this story, but didn't, because I think I have her meeting him near the beginning of that story, when he's moving into Locksley Manor. I definitely remember Roger of Stoke delivering Robin's stupid letter, and Marian's justifiably angry reaction, leading to her ensuing romance with Roger.**

**On a historical note, Johanna impulsively married Raymond Of Toulouse, after her brother tried to use her as a negotiation pawn, promising her hand to Saladin's brother, IF he converted to Christianity. Toulouse was a brutal and abusive husband, and Johanna, pregnant, had to flee to save her life, gave birth to his son, whom she named Richard, and died. Anna Komnenos, who did manage to briefly seduce Richard, ending any chance of happiness in his marriage, then became Raymond of Toulouse's next wife. Some of these events are mentioned in some of my other stories.)**


End file.
